The Gouge in the Table
by Ibbonray
Summary: Clove is from District 2, Panem. Her mother's dead. Her father's always drunk. Her only refuge is her best friend, Cato. The only problem is that both she and Cato are the tributes for this year's Games. Now Clove is struggling with the fact that only one of them will come home... and she's having weird feelings about Cato. CLATO. Rated T for language & violence. Strictly canon.
1. Little Clovie

_Thump._ The knife hits the target with a solid stick. Cinder, one of the trainees, high-fives me with a big smile, but I try to keep a straight face. I have to look tough for the judges, who are testing us one last time before the Election.

If I get a decent score, and with my family's history of Hunger Games winners, I will be almost guaranteed a spot next to 23 other kids my age, most of them wimps. In the past the judges counted me out because of my small size, but this year, after a slight growth spurt, they've _got _to recognize me now.

My name is Clove, Clove Saber. I live in District 2, a part of Panem.

I pick up another knife and twirl it around my fingers, just for show. I heft it and throw at another, harder target, and yet again, _thump. _A perfect bulls-eye, something nobody but a Saber can achieve.

I don't show it, but I am proud of my family's gift. My life would be nothing without knives, which is the only reason anybody ever talks to me.

Picking up the final knife, I examine it closely. Rusty, dull. Not a sharp point like the others.

"Look at this!" I call to the judges. "Rusty. Think I can stick it?" Of course, the rustiness doesn't matter, but they don't know that.

The judges can say nothing, but I almost hear their sneering, stuck-up voices. _No, you can't stick it, Clove. You're only a youngster. Why not go out and hang with some of your friends, forget about training?_

I can imagine my reply. _My friends? I have barely any friends. As for you, watch and learn._

I wind up, and then throw my body forward; the knife echoes on the target, a figure of a man that's much too easy for my taste, but I'm sure it impresses the judges, just a little. Yet again, the fatal spot has been hit.

"You are dismissed," the first judge tells me, and I stalk out of the building, only letting a grin slip onto my face when I travel a block away from the Training Center. I have a feeling that I have made it. For the first time, I am eligible to win the Election.

We call it the Election here. In the Capitol and other small, unimportant districts, such as 11 and 12, I hear they call it the Reaping, but that sounds like unwanted fate, so we have decided on a nickname that sounds much better.

I skip down Speartip Road, and turn onto Granite Ave. My house is on the other side of town, but this is where I go to when I'm in need of comfort… or want to brag a little to my best friend.

At the end of Granite Ave is a tiny, run-down park that they're thinking of turning into another stone-cutting factory, but with protests from nearby houses, these ideas won't be getting far. The park isn't used; there is a nicer in the center of the square that they also use for the Election, but this one offers more privacy, which is to die for in District 2, where the mountain takes up most of the area so people live close together in a tight space.

Under a raggedy, sparse-leaved tree we've named Ghostlium, Cato sits with his blonde hair swept to the side and a smirk on his face.

"Hey, Clove!" He says. "How were the tryouts?"

Cato is my best friend. His father and my father were best friends too, until his father died in an accident, but it's not a subject we talk about often. We pretty much haven't been separated since I was born, which is saying something, because being different ages and all, you'd think we would have grown apart. Cato's like a big brother to me, and the loving father I never had, since Mr. Oh-So-Amazing-Saber doesn't have time for any daughter of his.

"Oh, okay," I reply to Cato, and sit down next to him, putting my hair in a side ponytail with an extra hair band.

"Bet you kicked some targets' butts," he laughs.

"More like stabbed their chests." It's our little joke. "What about you? Please the judges much?"

"Oh, yeah, baby. This year's my year." I smile, but inside I keep back my fears. What if we're both picked this year? We might have to fight against each other. I might even have to kill my best friend. One thing's for sure, we would definitely not be going home together.

"So sure?" I punch him lightly in the arm.

"Yeah, Little Clovie, wanna bet?"

"Don't you dare use that nickname," I warn him, but I don't mind that much. It shows that Cato actually cares about me, knows who I really am. To everyone else, I'm sure I look like a tiny, vicious freak that doesn't have a heart or a soul.

We talk for a while, about life, about the Election, and the Hunger Games. Then the clock in the square, the Timekeeper, we call it, tolls the time: 5:00.

"Better head home," I say.

"Yeah, see you after dinner." After dinner we have last-minute training, for teenagers who are serious about the Hunger Games, and want to perfect their techniques before the Election. Cato and I always attend together, but when we get to room 17A, we will separate to our sides of the area, me to the knives and Cato on the other wrestling and spear-throwing and sword-fighting with apparent ease.

I jog with Cato until we reach the Victor's Village, which is split into two streets. We part ways, and I take the left street. The houses on this side appear taller, almost disturbingly creepy, and I've always hated living here.

When I reach Number 6, I bang open the door and observe the "home" I've been stuck with since I was born. As always, it's deathly quiet.

"I'm HOME!" I yell, with no reply, but I didn't expect one.

I hang up my jacket on its hook, take my knife satchel and sling it over the back of a chair.

Then I fetch an apple and eat it while I cook myself beef strips. We have to build up muscle and look well fed, but strong for the Capitol, so each year, the month before the Hunger Games, we have to watch our diet. No bread, cheeses, or sweets for an entire month.

I stand still, wondering how many times my relatives had stood here, watching what they ate, cooking themselves beef strips. I wonder where my father is off to, most likely a bar. I mourn my Grandfather.

Grandfather was the one who taught me how to throw knives, when I was seven. Our kitchen table has many scars from where knives have struck it again and again by my relatives, learning this art themselves. The Sabers are known for our knife-throwing skills, and I, a little, wild girl, had gotten out a butter knife and stabbed a particularly deep gouge.

Grandfather had chuckled.

"Little Clovie, have you discovered the Saber family's destiny? Here, I will teach you." He took the butter knife and stood a foot away from the table, easily throwing the butter knife into the gouge. I was impressed.

"I wanna try, I wanna try!" I shouted. And I did. I tried to throw the butter knife. I missed. And missed. But soon I could back away, 3 feet, 4 feet. I hit the gouge every time, with better knives, sharper and deadlier ones.

My grandfather taught me how to be Clove. He had a heart attack when I was eleven.

"Grow up, Little Clovie. Win the Hunger Games for me," were his last words. "You throw those knives, and hold our destiny in your heart."

Not that I had anyone besides Cato to comfort me after he died. My mother was killed on an overdose of morphling, which she was addicted to. My father drinks hard liquor and the only things he ever tells me are, "Give me a shot of that strong stuff, girl," or "Get outta the house, you ain't good enough to be a Saber kid."

Of course, that's after he's had a good drink of the 'strong stuff'.

If Cato didn't exist, I swear I'd have broken apart by now, maybe would have tried morphling myself (we sure do have the money for it) but Cato's kept me sane, showed me the Training Center, where I've proved who Clove Saber really is.

After I finish my meal, I don my jacket and my knife satchel and select a wickedly sharp knife, based on my mood. It's my tradition to hit the gouge in my table from the doorway, every time I leave the house.

I move into proper stance and throw the knife, getting a perfect result, as usual. I retrieve it, run my finger down the smooth, shiny blade, then turn and walk out the door.

The Timekeeper strikes 6:30 just as I walk through the doors to the Training Center for the second time today. I will be a couple minutes late, (curse those stairs,) but I know Cato will cover for me, like always. We watch each other's backs.

Of course, he is a year older than me… he's 16 and I am 15. He also is taller and stronger. But I know that I can throw knives way better than he can.

Three years ago, Cinder, my training partner, was joking around about Cato. "He's nothing but a lump of muscle with no brain and no heart!" she said, a second before I threw my knife at her arm. Not that hard, but I bet it hurt, a lot. Cinder hasn't said anything since, and has acted pretty friendly around me, high-fiving me and other smiley acts of kindness, but I know that she's secretly scared of me.

It feels great to have somebody scared of me. It's almost like I can do anything I want to do and they'll say nothing but yes.

But I want people to like me, too… the way Cato can see through me comforts me sometimes, and I know he'll always be there.

When I get there, the serious trainers are already to work, some spear throwing, others wrestling and kicking the shit out of people, some practicing shooting arrows and the rest handling knives close-up to dummies.

I'm the only trainee who has chosen knife throwing, and I am proud of it. I head over to the station, open up my knife satchel, and set them up in a row in an easy-to-reach place. Then I program the targets to move; the trainers tell us that at the Capitol, they have moving targets in the training center, so this is good practice for me. They whirl around, and I get to work, picking up one knife after the other, hurling them at the moving targets and getting bulls-eyes every time. When they've all hit the targets, I slow the machine down, retrieve the knives, and proceed to do this again.

Sometimes trainees stop to watch, and I perfect my stance, throw the knives with pride, and show off for my audience. This type of power feels good. I don't have to yell to get attention, or even try very hard… all I need to do is look tough and be perfect and Clove Saber is the person everyone's looking at.

Except for Cato. Cato never watches. For some reason, today, I am annoyed. He should watch. He's my best friend, right?

When I go to sleep tonight, I think of the Election. Maybe they will let me volunteer; they've seen what I can do. Maybe Cato will, too, but I hope not, oh, I hope not, because I don't want to have to kill my best friend.


	2. The Election

When I wake up in the morning I am shivering. The blanket has fallen to the floor after I tossed and turned from the nightmare I had. Grandfather was, yet again, throwing the butter knife into the gouge on the table, but the gouge turned into a slip of white paper with my name on it, _Clove Saber. _The knife slit the paper in two, and I caught the fluttering pieces as they fell. But the writing had changed. _You will die, Clove Saber. You will die in the Hunger Games._

The nightmare was horrible, but I instantly shove it aside. I won't die in the Hunger Games. I won't. I probably won't be in it, anyway.

I hear a knock on the door. So close to when I woke up? How odd. Then I realize that maybe the knock on the door was what woke me up.

"Who is it?" I yell from my bedroom.

"It's Cato! Can I come in?"

I instantly freeze. Why is he at my house this early? I glance at my alarm clock.

_Oh._

It's 10:35. The Election starts at eleven.

"Just a sec!" I shout, and run around my room, hurriedly dressing in a T-shirt and shorts, brushing my hair, putting it back in a ponytail, and throwing on my shoes.

I grab my knife satchel and my jacket and throw open the door.

Cato looks me over and says, "You're going to the Election in _that?"_

I stare at myself, stare at him, in his nice clothes, and blush. In my hurriedness, I forgot to wear my Election dress, and, not to mention, take a bath.

"Give me 15 minutes, Cato."

"Yeah, Clove, that might be a good idea." I wait for him to leave, but all he does is sits down in a nearby chair. "Well?" he asks me. "Time is ticking away."

"Oh!" I exclaim, and sling my satchel onto the other chair, kick off my shoes, and run out of the room.

After a quick bath, I dry off and take out my Election dress and step into it, feeling the soft black velvet touch my skin like a feather. I tie my hair back with a blue ribbon and stare at myself in the mirror.

This is not what Clove looks like. Clove is tough. Clove is fierce.

Clove isn't the girl who stands here in a dress, trying to look pretty.

I turn on my heel and shut the door, stepping down the hallway to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Cato is touching my knives.

"Cato!" I yell at him, and shove him away. "How many times have I told you? _Do not touch my knives!"_

I gather them up and place them carefully in the satchel, then hold it behind my back.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He says with his hands up.

"Don't. Touch my knives. Ever," I hiss.

"I won't. It's just that, they're so…"

"They are _my_ knives. Now come on, we'll be late for the Election."

Before we exit the house, I turn to the table, the table I used to throw butter knives at. I run my fingers over the deep gouge and mentally tell Grandfather to wish me luck.

"Good bye, house," I whisper, knowing I'll probably see it again, but I just have to make sure.

Finally, at the doorway, I pick out a knife as Cato watches, silently. I get into stance, shift my weight forward, and throw.

For the first time since I was nine, I miss.

I _miss_.

I stand there, staring at the knife, still trembling from impact, just an inch away from the gouge.

How could I have missed?

"Looks like you missed," Cato smirked. I'm at a loss for words; there's no comeback from me, no protest.

I definitely missed. But my aim was perfect.

Without retrieving the knife, I drag Cato by the arm outside and slam the door. I put my troubles behind me.

"Come on," I say.

We head to the center of the square, me still clutching my knife satchel tightly, as if somebody is about to steal it from me. In the middle of the nicer park, the equipment has been moved and a stage is set up in the park bearing District 2's crest. There are hundreds of people milling around, some Peacekeepers, (why we need so many Peacekeepers, I don't know… District 2 is pretty loyal to the Capitol,) and most of them from my district.

Soon the Timekeeper tolls its bell, and we are ushered into a line, where Cato and I are squashed up against each other. I've hugged him plenty of times, sat close to him, but somehow right now it's different. I can feel his heart beating, slowly, rhythmically, and I close my eyes, and…

I shrug the feeling off. He's my best friend. Forget about it, Clove.

Now we're approaching the Identification Station, where they draw your blood. It doesn't hurt at all, but I always feel so out of place here; it's almost like I'm the one who should be drawing blood, not a creepy woman whose face you cannot see.

When Cato is gone, directed into the group of sixteen-year-old boys, the unknown woman instructs me to give her my finger. I stick out my finger, and she jams the needle into it, which doesn't hurt a bit. I place my finger in the box on the white paper in front of me, which tells me that I am Clove Saber, fifteen years old.

Then I am pushed in with the fifteen-year-old girls, right next to Cinder, who softly whispers to me, "Are you scared?"

"No way," I whisper back. "I'm thinking about volunteering, actually." I hope they will let me. Eighteen is the year you usually volunteer, but I'm sure the Capitol will make an exception, they always do.

"Be quiet!" A girl, I think her name is Streak, hisses. I press my lips together and search for Cato in the crowd.

He's in the midst of the boys who weight-lift constantly… those arrogant sixteen-year-olds who all the girls swoon for. Each one of them is a stupid idiot. I am proud to report to myself that Cato is clearly is more muscular than the rest.

Then I second-guess myself. Why should I care that he is more muscular? Get a grip, Clove.

He looks over at me, and mouths, _you okay?_

_More okay than I've ever been._ I put on my I'm-About-To-Kill-You face that I've been practicing for years and glare at him.

He laughs and mouths, _Little Clovie, winner of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games!_ I roll my eyes and tell him good luck, just before Amber Riverlace makes her big show of entering the stage.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" She shouts into the microphone as she attempts to run up the stairs in her million-inch neon high heels, and almost falls in the process. "Welcome to District Two's Election of our SEVENTY-FOURTH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES TRIBUTES!" There is clapping from around the park, as Amber finally manages to reach center stage.

She poses like a model in front of the cameras, her long fingernails painted a deep brownish yellow color and her hand resting on the hip of her dandelion-yellow dress, dark green tights clinging to her legs. Amber's bouncy locks of yellow hair give her the effect of a much-too-tall humanoid sunflower, which is despicable because in District 2 where weapons are made and stone cut and polished, sunflowers are practically forbidden.

"Now, everyone, you've probably seen this before, but it is now time to watch the _wonderful _video brought to you from the Capitol! Please, enjoy," Amber gushes, tossing her hair and smiling. There is a trace of gold lipstick on her teeth.

After three years of watching "the video", I have it practically memorized. So does Cato. I glance at him and see that he is watching me. I slowly gesture to Amber and roll my eyes, and he nods with a bored half-smile on his face.

_War, terrible war…_ the video starts and we are all forced to endure complete boredom. Like they don't already teach us this in school! I want to get on with the Election already. But we all have to keep quiet and make a good impression on the Capitol. I bite the inside of my cheek until it is over. …_This is how we safeguard our future._

Finally!

"Oh, President Snow's voice is sooooo soothing, don't you think?" Amber giggles, and I mutter to myself, "That's definitely not President Snow. Whenever you get the chance to kill Amber Riverlace, take it, Clove."

"Now, let us proceed on to the Election! As usual, ladies go first."

I am so hyped up right now I am almost bursting. I know I will volunteer. I will be the female tribute for the 74th Hunger Games.

Amber's golden brown nails flutter over the slips of white paper, and I remember my nightmare. _You will die, Clove Saber._

I shrug that off and get ready to yell, "I volunteer!"

Amber pinches a slip and unfolds it, and in her poisonous, Capitol-accented voice, says, "Why, I know her! Clove Saber is our lucky winner!"

My first thought is, _She doesn't know me. She's just faking it._

Then I realize that maybe I don't have to shout out my pre-rehearsed words.

Clove Saber.

That's my name.

I glance quickly at Cato, whose expression I cannot read; he could be anything from joyful to depressed or jealous to surprised. It's one of the characteristics I like about him. Blank expressions keep any vulnerability at bay.

Cinder, who is right in front of me, touches my hand and tells me, "Go on. They're waiting for you." I see that the other teenagers from District 2 have made a pathway for me to the stage, and I smooth my dress, tighten my ponytail, put on a confident smile, and run up to the spot next to Amber.

"Hi! Clove Saber?" She's even more sickening up close. I contain my feelings and confidently speak into the microphone.

"Yes, I am!" I say, in imitation of Amber.

"Do we have any volunteers?" Amber looks around, pointing the microphone at the crowd. There are no volunteers. Even if there were, I'd turn them down. I smile and thank Grandfather for letting me be the girl tribute in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games.

"It seems like we don't! Any words from our girl tribute?"

"Oh, I am _honored_ to be a tribute, Amber! I would like to tell my audience that I am totally ready to get out there in the arena and _win _the Hunger Games!" I hold up my arms and the crowd claps for me.

"Why, that was _wonderful! _Congratulations, Clove!" I glance at her neon heel, tapping just slightly, like she's impatient, ready to go. Amber Riverlace is bored; a feeling that she's probably masked half her life. I laugh to myself.

"And now, for the boy tribute!" She shouts, and draws a name unknown to me. "Samson Whetstone!"

A little boy emerges from the twelve-year-olds, trying to look fierce but failing to pretend he's mastered his chosen weapon yet. He'll probably die in the bloodbath, even though I'm sure I won't kill him.

He trembles his way up the stairs, and Amber side-hugs him and says, "Samson Whetstone, correct? Or do you have a nickname?"

"Sam," he says, shakily.

"Any volunteers?" A couple eighteen-year-olds tentatively raise their hands, but a voice, a voice I'd know anywhere, shouts, "I volunteer!"

Heads turn in his direction, and I whisper, softly, "No."

"It looks like we have a volunteer!" Amber gleefully shouts. In just a couple strides, he reaches the stage, pushing the young boy, Sam, behind him and telling him to go back to his mother and father.

"Can you tell us your name, sugarplum?" I snicker at this because he cannot be classified as a sugarplum, but am still in complete shock so thankfully my laugh isn't loud. Then I realize that even if there's anything remotely funny about it, I shouldn't be feeling this way. That sobers me up just fine.

"Cato. Cato Hadley."

My best friend volunteered. If I survive, Cato will die.

I bite my lip, hard, to keep from crying out, and just watch as Cato is made the male tribute of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games.

We cannot both live through this year.

I am devastated.

But I keep my crazy grin planted on my face, try to pretend that I don't even know Cato and am glad for the competition. When Amber motions for us to shake hands, I take hold of his and shake it. His grip is bone crushing, but I straighten my shoulders and try not to wince.

Soon we are taken to separate rooms and we have barely glanced at each other for a second. It's all an act, though. Right?

In my visiting room, I sit down and don't expect anyone. Maybe my father will come see me, wish me luck, but he's probably so drunk right now, I doubt it. So I'm surprised when the Peacekeepers slam open the heavy oak door and shove my trainee partner through.

"Three minutes," he says roughly, and closes the door.

"What are you doing here?" I ask Cinder.

"I was going to wish you luck. You're going to need it."

"I don't need luck, I need skill," I glare at her, not really meaning it, but proud to find a look of hurt etched onto her face.

She ignores my comment and continues.

"Anyway, I figured, you don't have many friends who would visit you, so I wanted to tell you that I believe you can make it. Clove, you've thrown a knife at my arm, and I know how much it hurts… You can throw better than anyone I've ever known, and I'm sure you'll be the winner."

"You don't think Cato will?" I ask. Still with the I'm-About-To-Kill-You face on, but I can tell she knows I don't really mean it.

"I know you're friends. But you're small, fast; Cato's a bigger target. Chances are, somebody will take him as a threat and try to kill him." I shiver, imagining a life without my best friend. If I come back from the Games, I'll enter the Victor's Village alone. No Grandfather, no mother, an alcoholic father, a sort-of friend named Cinder, and above all no Cato.

But I tuck my emotions into the back of my mind and struggle to keep a straight face. "I hope I don't," I tell her.

Cinder gives me a sympathetic look. "I hope you don't kill him also. But don't think about it now. Here," she reaches into her pocket. "I read the guidelines recently…"

"There are guidelines?" I ask, stunned.

"Of course! Anyway, they said you could take a token with you from your district to the Games. Will you take this?" Cinder places a small, cool object in my palm and closes my hand around it.

I open up my hand and stare at a little stone bottle on a cord. It reminds me of our district… we _are_ the masonry district, you know. "Smell the contents," Cinder instructs, and I remove the cork from the top and bring the stone bottle up to my face. The unmistakable scent of cloves wafts up to my nose, and I look up at Cinder and hug her.

"Whenever you need reminding of home, just take this out. Since you're name's Clove, you know, I just thought it was a good idea…" Cinder hesitates, as if unsure this token was necessary.

"I love it, Cinder. Thank you." Right when I say that, the male Peacekeeper shoves open the door and says in a booming voice, "Time's up!"

"Good luck! I believe in you, Clove!" She calls after me, as the Peacekeeper roughly shoves her away. I take the necklace and clasp it around my neck, feeling the stone bottle hit my chest.


	3. Evilian and Ben

I wait for the Peacekeepers to let more people in, maybe my father, but no one comes. No one. I almost break down in tears, thinking about how alone I've been these past few years, giving training my all and having no friends; but I force the lump in my throat to go away as I silently curse my father for caring so little about me. As I curse the world for taking my Grandfather away from his granddaughter.

When Cato's most likely numerous visitors disperse, the Peacekeepers march us to the train station where a giant crowd of District 2 residents, Capitol reporters and photographers, and Amber (our escort,) resides.

I try to exchange a look with Cato, but all he does is examine Amber. For a second, I am jealous, but mentally smack myself in the head. _Forget it, Clove. Amber is our escort. We both need to look at her. He wasn't staring, _I think.

I look again. Cato is still staring.

"Clove, right?" A reporter nudges me in the arm and I turn on my heel, instantly annoyed.

"Yes?" I ask the reporter viciously. He doesn't even blink.

"Are you excited for the Games? Do you think you can win? What is your story?"

I feel anger course through my body and I hiss, "Oh, I will win," I cackle. "But if you do not back away from me right now, I swear you'll _never _speak again." I know the reporter's just doing his job, but I've got to take my anger out on somebody, and besides, he _is_ from the Capitol.

Cato turns to the reporter too and tells him, "Get away from her." The reporter scurries off. I smile at Cato just as Amber approaches us and says in her poisonous, bubbly voice, "Aren't you two EXCITED? Let's get on board the train!" She leads us through the crowd and into the high-tech Capitol train, which only comes once a year.

The crowd's yells fade away, and I am met with the most stunning place imaginable. Tables are set in various places, draped in deep red and purple velvet; even the most disgusting things on platters look delicious. Alongside this, pastries are stacked on three-tier serving plates and shiny fruits are set cautiously into a bowl.

"Oh my God, Cato!" I shout, diving to a bowl and plucking out an apple, taking a huge bite. Heaven. I've had plenty of apples, but not as juicy and un-bruised as this one. Cato guffaws and yells across the room, "Toss me one!"

I throw an apple and it thankfully gets to Cato unscathed.

"Ooh, do I have a pair of lovebirds this year?" Amber says in a gossipy voice.

I laugh at her stupidity. "Yeah, right. We've been best friends for as far as I can remember. Nothing going on," I tell her. Cato says nothing.

"Hmm, I see…" Amber trails off with a fake understanding face. "Don't be afraid to tell me. I can keep a-"

"No," Cato interrupts. "She is a year younger than me, anyway."

For a second, I want to lash out at Cato and yell, "So what?" but hold it back and swallow the lump in my throat. What is going on with me?

"Okay, whatever you say," Amber says, still unbelieving. Then, suddenly, a loud voice penetrates the brief silence.

"So _you_ are the tributes this year, huh?" The tallest woman I've ever seen seemingly glides in, with a man slowly walking behind her, face down. They must be our mentors. Normally the mentors are Brutus and Enobaria, but Brutus is sick from some sort of food poisoning and Enobaria decided to take the year off.

She stops right in front of me and looks me, up and down, then does the same to Cato. "So." She stands there for almost a full minute. Meanwhile, the male has sat down at a table and helped himself to pastries, which I'm sure we aren't allowed to eat but tempt me anyway.

"What?" I finally reply, putting my hand on my hip.

"Don't you give me spunk, girl! By the way, you don't even have a chance," she scoffs.

"I don't have a chance at what? Winning? Ha!" I laugh.

"What's your name, anyway?" Cato asks.

"I am Evilian. My comrade, over there, he doesn't talk much. Don't even bother learning his name."

"_What?" _My voice is slowly rising. "God, woman, we've got to know both your names. It's the rules."

"You don't know the rules as well as I do. I'm your mentor."

"So is _he."_ Cato crosses his arms. Evilian (her name fits… she seems evil enough,) glares at both of us.

"I'm Ben," the man says so quietly, I almost have to read his lips. If he were louder, I would probably jump.

"Ben, huh?" Amber says, from her perch on a stool. "That's a very dull name. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to take a shower." She sniffs and exits.

I stare at Ben. He is probably in his thirties, with dark hair and eyebrows, his face still turned to his pastries, which he eats like he's never eaten them before.

"Well, there you go," Evilian says impatiently. "Now we have to find out your… ah… hidden _talents."_ Apparently she doesn't think we have any. Or maybe that _I _don't have any… it's obvious that Cato does.

Cato speaks first. "Clove can throw. Knives, I mean. She hasn't missed since… you missed this morning, right?" He laughs, but not a mean laugh, more of a teasing one. I'm a little angry, but at the same time, I get another feeling I've never had before. It feels good, like I'm being noticed. "But besides that, she hasn't missed for years."

Evilian walks up and pinches my arm. "Ow!" I yell, but she ignores me.

"Hmm. Barely any muscle tone. Small. Brunette. Stuck up. As most brunettes are."

"Hey!" I shout, almost punching her. She's practically a brunette too! Her hair is just a shade darker than mine. She moves on.

"Bet you can't handle a knife, girl. Not like I can." Then I remember. I saw her, a couple years ago… oh! She was the victor of the 67th hunger games, and killed that boy from district 4 with a knife to the heart… of course, close-range. Plus, her stab wasn't straight on, either. I could easily beat her in a fight, but there is no correcting Evilian until you have evidence.

I say nothing. Evilian moves on to Cato, who has been eating his apple in a very busy manner.

"You look plenty strong, my boy. Great biceps. I assume you use a spear and a sword? Very wise weapons. Blake!" She shouts at Ben, obviously forgetting his name. "Looks like we have the winner right here."

Jealousy surges up from my heart. "Oh yeah, Evilian? You haven't seen me fight, or Cato. Don't assume what you don't know. It's a complete waste of time. Damn, you're so full of yourself," I scream.

Cato glowers at me. He was obviously enjoying some of the compliments, and I've ruined it. I glower back.

"You think I'm going to say sorry?" I tell him, and turn toward the doors. I hate him right now. He could do something about this, he could stick up for me, he could…

"Clove… wait!" He tells me.

"Come back here young lady!" Evilian calls.

I see, out of the corner of my eye, Ben shrinking back.

"I'm going to go find my damn room," I say, throwing a few other curse words in for good measure.

"It's not my fault, Clove! Come back! Don't leave me-" But I am already gone through the hover train's doors.

I bump into Amber on my way through the seemingly endless train, and she, for once, is kind enough to show me my room, where there is a giant, fluffy bed and an endless array of clothing. I sit down on the bed and cool off, my anger slowly draining away as I pick up a remote control on the bedside table.

A little caption on the bottom says, _Scenery screen,_ so I point it at the wall with the huge window, hoping that's what it means. I click the forward button, where a view of Downtown Capitol appears. I click it a couple times, and see scenes from different districts, even a couple from District 2. Finally, I come across the most astonishing picture of all.

It's Ghostlium.

That tree from the park, the tree where Cato and I always sat for long discussions, is on the screen. If I look at it close enough, I can imagine I'm in the park with Cato, his laugh echoing throughout District 2.

I'm hit with a strong feeling of attraction, to hear that laugh forever, to be close to Cato, closer than I ever have been. I bang my head with my fist to clear my head, and then I think, "_am I sick or something? There's definitely something wrong with me!_"

I lay down on the bed, which is even softer than the one I have at home. _Home._ Will I ever see it again? Will I ever throw another knife into the gouge? Will I see the mountain, the training center, Cinder, my father, anything familiar again? I feel the stone bottle hanging around my neck and lift it to my nose, taking in the aroma of cloves.

Mmm. I close my eyes and let the bed envelope me, only to awake when Amber pops in, evading my privacy, and says, "You forgot your dinner, Little Clovie! Wait, can I call you that?"

I stare at her. How did she figure out my nickname? But all that shows in her eyes is innocence as I dismiss the thought and deftly reply, "No."

I am so nervous for dinner, mainly because I don't know what Cato thinks of me for walking out on him. Then again, a part of me thinks, _so what? He doesn't love me like I love him. He deserves punishment._

If I could kill my brain, I would kill it right now. I don't love him like that. I don't. I _can't._ And yet, I don't understand why I'm struggling with these emotions. Must be nerves.


	4. Just My Best Friend

I trail Amber closely down the hall of the train, patting down my hair, which probably looks like a mess. I pull it into a side ponytail just before I catch sight of the room we will dine in.

The first thing I see is the _food._

There is so much, almost weighing the table down. Fruits of all shapes and sizes, vegetables that range from raw to roasted, loafs of whole wheat bread, soups, unknown substances and, in the middle of it all, a huge pig, fit for kings.

Cato, Ben, and Evilian sit around it, Cato seemingly in deep conversation with Ben, and Evilian sitting up straight as a rod, nose turned up and sipping champagne. I know what champagne looks like because every once in a while my father throws a victor party in our house, with numerous alcoholic beverages, which I have had the nerve to sip every once in a while.

Champagne isn't great. I like vodka more. It burns like fire in my throat, and is much easier to deal with than any emotional pain I've felt.

Amber makes a flashy entrance, and says, "Well, isn't this perfect? Now we can all sit down for dinner and talk about your strategies together!"

I roll my eyes at Cato and smirk, but he just stares at me. Instantly I feel bad. I shouldn't have hurt him like that. I _know _he'll make a great tribute. But shouldn't I deserve credit, too?

Evilian says in a sour voice, "So, the little girl has finally got the nerve to face her mentors, after five hours. What were you doing, little girl?"

"None of your business, Evilian," I hiss and take a seat next to Cato. He looks up at me.

"It's mine," Cato growls, and I put on my I'm-About-To-Kill-You face, which makes him smile, just barely.

"I was sleeping, God," I tell everyone. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a lady dressed in red and standing stock-still. "Who's she?"

"Avox," Ben mutters.

"An Avox? What's that?"

"They're people who've committed _terrible_ crimes. Their tongues are cut out, so they can't talk, sweetie," Amber says.

My head turns to the side as I look at the Avox. She doesn't open her mouth, which apparently holds no tongue… I think about what it would be like to cut somebody's tongue out. Torture. I smile dreamily at the thought. To torture somebody, to have everyone's eyes on me, and my father, he'd watch too…

Save it for the arena, Clove.

I turn to the Avox. "May I serve myself?" I ask her.

She gives me a quick nod, then stills again, like a statue.

Amber gasps. "Don't talk to her! You'll get yourself in trouble!"

"How's that possible?" Cato asks. "Aren't we going to be in a troublesome situation already? They can't do anything bad to us."

"Just shut up, both of you. Clove, do I have to send you to your room?" Evilian says viciously, slamming her hand on the table. An empty glass falls and shatters, to which the Avox attends to immediately.

I laugh. "What? I did nothing! And you're not my damn mother."

Evilian walks over to me, grabs my arm, and leads me out of the room.

"Hey!" I shout at her. "I haven't eaten anything. And I want to talk to Cato. Let me go!" I stare at Cato as Evilian drags me to the place that she just mentioned… my room. He does nothing but stare back, and mouths, _Sorry. We'll talk later._

As Evilian throws me into my room, she tells me, "I heard you have no mother. She _died,_ didn't she? Overdose of morphling. She mentored me, you know. That's why I take responsibility of being your mother for these seven days that I know you. "

"You're not my mother," I repeat, seething.

She smiles at me, with a forming glare. "And you're not anything like her. Stay put. Just order from the menu… food will be delivered to you shortly." She turns away, and shuts the door. I hear the unmistakable sound of a lock turning, and then her shuffling back down the hallway.

I huff and plop down on the bed. She's just horrible. How can Ben stand her? Well, I guess if you can withstand the arena…

Stuck in my room like a little kid. I look around for my knife satchel, which I dropped on the ground earlier, but it's gone. An Avox must have taken it. I grumble and come to the realization. There's no _knives_ in here, damn it! I focus on Ghostlium, pretend I'm underneath the tree, and close my eyes…

_It was a sunny day. I was thirteen, and Cato was fourteen. We were laughing under the tree for the millionth time, when he stopped and stared at me._

_ "What?" I asked. "Something on my face?" I roll my eyes and laugh again._

_ "No," Cato said, dead serious. I stopped laughing._

_ "What then?" I said, annoyed._

_ "I… I…" He paused. "You're so beautiful."_

_ "Thanks." I dripped sarcasm, thinking about how mad he'd be if he knew I was in on the joke._

_ "No, no, I really mean it," he said, and leaned forward…_

_ I scrambled back and away from the tree. "What the heck?" I told him. "Think you were going to kiss me?"_

_ He looked hurt. "No, no, forget it."_

_ And he never mentioned it again._

I stop zoning out and shake my head to clear it. I hadn't thought about that memory for a long time. Dismissed it, actually. Couldn't bear to think of our relationship going further than just best friends. But now…

NO! No not now. Not ever. Not if one of us isn't returning. Not if he's been acting like he hates me.

My stomach rumbles and I remember that I haven't yet eaten. In the corner of the room lie a menu, a speaker thing, and a metal flap in the wall. I scan the menu to find that the Capitol's extravagance beats even beef strips. I tell the speaker, "Tomato basil soup with roasted string beans and three rolls," and a couple seconds later, a hot and steamy meal of precisely what I said appears ready-made out and slides out of the metal flap, right in front of me.

I dig in, and the meal is finished in no time, but I'm not stuffed, not yet anyway. I see there's no dessert on the menu, which disappoints me, but order fruit with caramel drizzled on top, which takes me out of my mood instantly.

When my dishes whisked away after I place them in the flap, there is a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" I yell.

"It's Cato!"

"Well ask Evilian for the key the damn door's locked from the outside!"

"The "damn door" can unlock from the inside, too. Didn't you know?" I can hear the smirk in his voice, but I say nothing as I approach the door and find that, yes, it can unlock from the inside.

When the door opens, I find Cato standing there, arms crossed, and a look of amusement glinting in his blue eyes.

"What do you want?" I say, crossing my arms as well.

He laughs. "Brighten up a bit, Little Clovie. I'm just here to talk." He pushes his way past me and sits on my bed.

"Hey!" I shout indignantly. "You may sit on the chair." I gesture to the chair that I was just sitting on.

"Nope. Not moving. You can sit by me though," he pats the space next to him.

I make a face. This is the problem with my best friend. He is always, always teasing me, and will never relent. I instead sit on the floor.

"Look what you did, making me end up on the floor," I joke.

"Oh no, how could that have happened?" He says, in a sarcastically worried voice.

"Okay," I get down to the point. "Why are you here?"

"Hmm, do I have to mention that I got praise for once in my life, and you butted in?"

"I'm sorry! I just was so angry, I couldn't help it," I tell him, instantly getting moody again.

"It's okay. I understand," Cato laughs. "Little Clovie, my vicious friend who can't seem to get on good terms with anybody."

He's joking, but it feels like a slap in the face. I look down, hurt in my eyes, and shift uncomfortably.

Cato realizes his mistake quickly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, that came out wrong," he says, and comes over and holds me in an embrace.

For a second, it feels so good to be loved, and the hug is unimaginably warm… and I have to force myself to punch him in the stomach.

"Ow," he says, but for my benefit only. He's too strong… it doesn't hurt him.

"How _could _you?!" I scream at him and punch him again. "You volunteered. Now only one of us can come back. Only ONE!" I attack, kicking and punching and not realizing I'm crying until I feel my shirt and find it wet.

But I'm no match for Cato. He pins me to the wall, arms forced away with his strong grip. For a second, we both breathe hard.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I had to protect you."

Thank God my mouth is still free. "PROTECT ME?" I yell and try to kick him some more.

"Listen to me, Clove," he says, tightening his grip on my arms and putting his feet on mine. "You're no match for some players. They're taller, stronger…"

"And you're saying I'm NOT STRONG?" I shout.

"No, no, I mean—"

"What's all the commotion in here?" Amber says from the doorway, and then her eyes widen. "Oh, oh, I didn't mean to butt in, and now that I see that you're only making out, I'll just…"

"I am _not _making out with him," I say hotly, and Cato lets me go. "I don't even like him."

"Just leave, Amber," Cato smiles at her, and she blushes and leaves. I wonder what it would look like if, instead of her cheeks turning red when she blushes, they turned yellow. I smile at the thought, but quickly turn my expression into an angry frown.

When she leaves, Cato just looks warily at me. "Just listen up, I know one of us isn't coming back. But I couldn't stand if _you _didn't come back, and I just sat at home, staring at the screens. I had to volunteer. Besides, this is my year," he says, his cocky attitude slowly coming back.

"Whatever," I say. "Look, I'm tired, I'm going to go to bed."

"Already? I thought you had a five-hour nap," he kids.

"So? Forget it, Cato. Just leave," I sigh, and eye the closet on the other side of my room. It looks like all the clothes fit me. I grab a pair of yoga pants and a white t-shirt, and head to the bathroom, where I change, brush my teeth, and let my hair out of its ponytail.

When I re-enter my room, Cato is still sitting on my bed. "What are you doing here?" I ask him. "Go back to your room."

"Can I sleep here with you?" He asks me. I just stare at him.

I say a few choice words, then exclaim, "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," he says. "I don't think I can stand sleeping alone tonight."

I know he's lying, but I understand that it might be nice to have comfort when you first reach an unknown place.

"Stubborn, aren't you?" I remark, and slide into the bed with him. I've got to admit, it's sort of weird. I haven't slept with anyone since I was little, maybe five, when my mother was alive and my father wasn't drunk as much as he is now. Plus, thinking how this is my best friend, who I secretly have a crush on…

No. I don't have a crush on him. If I admit that to myself, I'm nothing but one of those weak, gossipy girls who swoon over guys like him!

I slowly drift off to sleep, and when he puts his arm around me, I violently shrug it off. In the early morning, I'm barely aware when he softly says, "I'm going to my room, Clove," and when he does, I roll onto the warm imprint he's made on the bed, finding it easier to sleep when he's gone.

It is just so weird to sleep with your best friend.


	5. Don't Resist

"Up, up, up! We'll be in the Capitol in fifteen minutes. You need to look your best, LC. Can I call you _that?"_ Amber yells in my ear, instantly waking me up from my slumber.

"What time is it?" I yawn.

"Time for you to get up, LC."

"LC?"

"You don't like your nickname?"

"Oh, whatever, call me that, I don't care. I'm going to take a shower." I get up groggily.

"Hurry up, it's fourteen minutes and counting," Amber says, checking her neon pocket watch. I stare at her, in her deep yellow short-skirted skirt that hugs her thighs and ridiculous shirt. I run to my shower, strip my nightclothes, and hop into the small area, where I search the huge array of buttons. Finally, I find a blue one with wavy lines and a heat adjuster, and turn on the shower.

I get through the shower just fine, but not quick enough. I'm running late, and Amber reminds me from my doorway the time in constant three-minute intervals.

"Hurry, hurry, hurry!" She shouts, and I thank the machine that dries me off instantly, because that would take even more time. A current brushes my hair and dries it, and I sprint to the closet, throwing on a purple shirt, tight black pants, and lace-up boots. I locate a hair tie that's wrapped around my wrist and tie my hair back in a ponytail, make sure the stone bottle is still hanging from my neck, and run out the door, almost knocking Amber over in the process.

"Two minutes and seven seconds left," she muses, regaining her balance. "Pretty fast, but you better get to the dining room and eat some food before you meet the crowd. _Fast._" I nod and rush past her down the length of the train, skidding to a halt just in front of the table.

"Guess who decided to drop in," Cato laughs. "What time did you get up, just now?"

"Fifteen minutes ago," I catch my breath, crossing my arms and scowling. "Couldn't work the damn shower."

"Neither could I." He doesn't mention the sleeping thing last night, but I'm sure both Ben and Evilian wouldn't approve, and they're sitting right in front of me. I take a seat, just before popping up again as I look out the window.

"Damn," I breathe, taking in the wonder of a city with buildings and towers that almost touch the sky.

Surprisingly, Ben speaks up. "Skyscrapers," he says, munching on, what do you know, a pastry. "That's what the tall buildings are called."

"They're beautiful," Cato says, and for once in my life, he's breathless, too. I agree with him. They're so gigantic; if they were alive they would crush thousands of people underfoot with each step, in a beauty only known to people like me who live for power.

"In a way," says Evilian, and then turns to me. "Actually, I need to learn your strengths. How good are you at throwing knives?" I glance at her, astonished. Is she talking to me? Has she had a change of heart? "_Little girl,_" she says, and I know that Evilian is always Evilian, through and through.

Just as we approach the Capitol, I pick up a knife lying on the table. "Give me a target," I say.

"The apple on top of that bowl of fruit," Evilian smirks, thinking I won't make it. I glance at her, putting on my horrified look, and her smirk grows.

Obviously, it's all an act. Of _course_ I can hit the apple. Easy as Ben eating a pastry.

I take the knife, pull back, and release with a breath of air. The knife hits the apple, dead-on.

Evilian gasps, then contains herself. "See that yellow velvet chair? Hit its leg," she encourages. Why's she giving me all these easy ones?

I retrieve the knife, back to the other side of the room, and hit the chair leg. Now she's moderately interested. "The crack in the wall," she challenges, and I give Cato a look that says, _See, finally she gives me something fun._ Cato winks at me and takes a bite of his toast.

Yet again, I retrieve the knife from the chair leg, back to the other side of the room, squint at the crack and throw. Dead-on perfect. I am _so_ good at this.

The knife sticks out of the crack, vibrating softly from impact, and I run over, remove it, kiss the blade, (I know, it sounds weird, but it's another tradition of mine,) and set it back on it's place on the table.

Evilian looks at me with a new respect now, impressed. But she doesn't know how good I am at moving targets. If I want to injure you, I can hit your arm, easy. If I want to kill you, and you're running full speed, you'll be hit in the head or the heart and you'll die in seconds.

At least, I hope.

I grab a beef strip from the table that I think might be called bacon, and turn to the window, to find that a crowd of people have gathered and shout at us from where we have just recently stopped. Grotesque people who have dyed skin and hair; people with crazy, bright clothes, too much makeup and too little self-consciousness. I see video cameras and flashing cameras and hands and mouths opening, shouting, "Welcome to the Capitol!" "District 2!" "Clove!" "Cato!" "AMBER!"

I smile and wave, and so does Cato, who mutters to me, "I could get used to this."

I laugh, and whisper back, "So could I, if I had more time."

We exit the train, and I am surrounded, asked questions, and pretty much, am given no personal space. I'm squished next to Cato, and it is sort of nice, until he reaches down to hold my hand.

He stares at me, I stare at him, and I pull away. It's too much. I am not holding hands with somebody I don't love. I don't love him. Not like _that._

_ But you do,_ my heart tells me. _You DO love him._

My eyes must portray so much emotion, that when I look at Cato, he steps back for a second. Or maybe I just put on my I'm-About-To-Kill-You face without meaning to. Either way, he's not holding my hand any time soon, I hope.

Amber, Ben, and Evilian lead us through the crowd to a building that seems, if possible, even taller than the rest. When I step in, cool air hits my face. I envy the residents of the Capitol because even in District 2, we rarely get air conditioning.

We go through a maze of hallways until we get to a room that glows white everywhere. The walls give the effect that the room is larger than it is. It's separated by an array of white curtains on white poles, and tons of people mill about.

"This is the Remake Center," Amber says cheerfully. "You'll meet your prep team and get all fixed up! It'll be fun, I promise."

Ben gives us advice. "Don't resist, it's better if they just do their work on you." I feel like I'm going to go through a surgery, but Cato, who apparently, like Cinder, read the guidebook (seriously, I need one) whispers to me, "No surgery is allowed. Don't worry."

I smile at him, hoping his reassurance is true.

Evilian also offers her input. "When the stylists chose the outfit, don't resist that, either. They know what they're doing. They've done their jobs their whole life."

"Okay," I say, putting on my confident face.

Six people come to greet us, and half tell me hello and that they're so, so, so excited to be my prep team! I just smile and nod as they lead me to a curtained-off section, instructing me to strip my clothes and lie on the cold metal bed-like thing in the center of the section.

I do as I'm told. As Ben and Evilian say, _don't resist._


	6. Gladiators

_Riiiiiiiip._ I've waxed myself before, but this time, the pain is excruciating. I grit my teeth as my legs are pulled clean of hair, and my arms, and even my eyebrows.

My prep team, who are as bubbly as Amber, chat away. "Oooooh, Clove, you are going to look fantastic!" Says Piqua, whose grape-colored hair has some sort of gel that makes is stick straight up in a single spike.

"Thank you," I smile, as they give me another sponge bath with wonderful-smelling soap. I wonder if Cato is getting the same treatment.

"Oh, it's no problem, honey," Ink gushes, toweling me off. Every single inch of her body is covered in tattoo after tattoo. Even her face sports a hummingbird sucking nectar from multiple flowers. She's already told me that she's suffered some sort of disease where all her hair fell out, so she wears a neon-orange wig.

"Don't tell!" She had whispered in my ear, and I replied that I'd never tell her secret to a single soul. Ink had giggled like a six-year-old.

Latan, a man who looks like he went through a plastic surgery explosion, and then covered it all up with makeup, winks at me as he brushes my hair. "Your hair color is perfect for what Ivor has in plan for you!" I smile again, and then shudder inside. _In plan for you_ sounds like a death sentence. Of course, I'd just pick up those scissors in the corner, open them, and defend myself like I would with a knife.

"Oh, look at the time!" Ink trills, tapping a long, decorated fingernail on her watch face. Piqua leans over her shoulder to see.

"Yes, we better fetch Ivor!" Piqua squeals, and the two immature ladies rush over and grab Latan by both arms so fast that he drops the hairbrush, then exit hurriedly. I laugh and sit up in bed, pick the brush up, and put it on the counter at one end of the curtained-off section. Then I slip on the robe I've been allowed to wear every now and then, glad that now I have some privacy.

When I hear the curtain roll back, I square my shoulders and turn around. A man has walked in, alone, and I have to assume it is my stylist, Ivor.

His skin is blinding white, and his hair is deep red, like blood. Dark makeup around his eyes makes Ivor look like a vampire. I instantly envy him. I would scare so many people in the arena if I looked like this.

"Here we are," Ivor says, rubbing his hands together like I'm his next meal. "My next tribute. Would you kindly take your robe off for me?"

_No._ But I follow his command. _Don't resist._

"Thank you. Down to business. We are going to make you look fantastic, but…"

Ivor pauses. "But what?" I snap. "Does my body create problems for your apparently fantastical plan?" I am annoyed with him treating me like I am some sort of meal that needs to be prepared in a certain way.

"But you are a little too… small for our requirements." Ivor taps his chin with a ghost white hand. His fingernails, like Ink's, are fake—who knew a man would wear fake fingernails?—and brick red like his short-cropped hair.

"A little too small for your requirements," I repeat, crossing my arms, covering my bare chest.

"Yes, but I'm sure the team and I can manage. A couple tweaks," he mutters, staring at my chest.

"A couple tweaks," I repeat again. "Can I put my robe back on?"

"Most of the ladies don't ask that so fast," Ivor says, staring at me with an evil grin on his face, and I see why.

I blush and shoot him a look. "Don't you_ dare_ think that I'm anything like those ladies." I take my robe, tie it quickly, and then pin Ivor to the wall.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, steady there," Ivor says, hands up. "I'll stop!"

"How old are you?" I say, scowling.

"None of your business," he says, and with one hand I reach out to the scissors on the counter and then I pick them up, open them, and press them to his neck. I'm not envious of him anymore. Who cares about good makeup… there's plenty here in the Capitol!

"How old are you?" I ask again, viciously.

"Th—thirty-two!" He squeaks.

"Then stick to your job, _Ivor,"_ I growl, letting him go and returning the scissors to their original place. Then I sit on the metal bed, putting on my I'm-Going-To-Kill-You face while hiding a smirk.

"O—okay! We—we're thinking, since you're d—district is masonry, and weapon producing…"

"Stop stuttering." I say, proud to know I have control over this stupid, weak man.

Of course, this only makes him stutter more.

"O—okay. A l—long time ago, these p—people called gl—gladiators lived in a great place called Rome, which for some reason didn't have districts, and they b—built this big building called a Col—Coliseum. Since your district is m—masonry and weapon making, we were going to d—dress you as gladiators, who actually f—fought to the d—death in these b—big Coliseums, which are like the arena."

Fought to the death? Why haven't I heard of these people before? "Are they just like me?"

"N—no. They don't look like you at all."

"What were they like?" I say with a vicious tone.

"Strong of course," Ivor says, somehow regaining his calm, cool manner. "I've never seen one, and they're more ancient than before the war. Which is pretty ancient. Mostly men, but we can make it work. Some were slaves, forced into it, but some volunteered, I think. The Hunger Games seems to be based off of this Coliseum. Also, I think they wore lots of metal armor, and plenty of weapons. Swords, spears…"

"Knives?" I ask.

"I doubt it," Ivor comments. "Maybe they did, but most gladiators preferred longer weapons, like the ones I just mentioned. A knife probably was considered weak, cowardly. Knives were not normally a warrior's chosen weapon before the war."

I laugh, and casually pick up the scissors. Then I turn to him, tracing the blades, and say, "Well, they haven't met Clove Saber, then."


	7. Opening Ceremonies

I step in front of the mirror, glancing up and down at my reflection. Not bad. The outfit is heavy, but that's what I expected, considering it is metal.

Piqua claps her hands and gushes, "Don't you love it? You and Cato will be the stars of the opening ceremonies!"

I flash her a smile and stare some more. I am wearing a tight, knee-length dress made of bronze metal, with a high collar that is made of pieces of bronze scales. On my head I wear a helmet that looks like the collar, made of bronze also, with wings on either side. My nails are painted like molten gold, and my eyes are lined in black, making me look fearsome and vicious. Even though the costume is ridiculous, it's better than I could have hoped for.

"Thank you, everyone!" I tell them; with a faint trace of sarcasm that I'm sure no one will notice. In reply, Ivor nods his head slightly, Latan beams, Piqua claps her hands, and Ink actually faints. Latan catches her and places her on the metal bed, where Ink wakes up and giggles like a little girl at Christmas.

"Oh, it's nothing," Ivor says. "Hurry, the opening ceremonies start in about fifteen minutes."

We walk out of the Remake Center and through the maze again, to another room where tributes are being surrounded by their escorts, mentors, prep teams and stylists. On the other side of the room are a set of large wooden doors and a dozen horse-drawn chariots.

"Oh, LC, you look amazing!" Amber rushes from nowhere and draws me up in a hug, which I step back from quickly. Behind her come Evilian, Ben, Cato, and his prep team and stylist. They are all gibbering like mad, exclaiming how fantastic we look and how wonderful Ivor and Cato's stylist, Ghana, did.

Cato is in an almost identical outfit, but he is in a bronze unitard while I am in a dress. He smirks at me and says, "You look ridiculous."

I laugh and say, "Look who's talking." At least Ivor and Ghana haven't heard this exchange.

"Nervous?" Cato asks.

"What's the point? We're only about to enter a stadium with thousands of people. Excited is a better word."

"Oh, you two!" Ghana indicates to both of us. She has turquoise hair and much too tan skin, but besides that, she looks pretty normal. With her she carries two bronze spears. Ghana thrusts one out to both of us. "They'll top off your outfits perfectly."

"What a great idea!" Amber chatters.

I glance at Ivor, hesitating to take mine. "I thought you were going to give me a knife," I say.

"No one is going to notice a knife," Ivor replies.

"Oh really?" I sneer, and take a pair of scissors from my boot. I had stolen them just in case I would need a knife… since my satchel's gone. "What if I impale you with one? I'm sure these scissors are close enough to a knife… right? Maybe then I'll be noticed." I'm not really going to hurt him, but it's funny when he backs away, bumping into another tribute.

Evilian speaks for the first time. "Stop it, little girl. Give those to me and take the spear."

I sigh and do as told. Cato has already taken his and he stands back, watching in amusement. "Got yourself in a fight already, Little Clovie?" I shoot him my I'm-About-To-Kill-You look and turn to examine the other tributes in the room.

"Well, Blake and I are going to the other end of the stadium. Good luck, Cato, little girl," Evilian says, and I don't even look to see her dragging him away. As Ghana, Ivor, and our prep teams fuss over us, fixing my hair, adjusting my helmet and my dress, I focus on the tributes from 1.

They are dressed all in pink, with gems studded all over their outfits. The girl has the most absurd headpiece I've ever seen, a pink, fluffy thing that extends from her head. Her blonde hair and green eyes flash as I turn to see who she is looking at. To my utter disgust, it's Cato. I roll my eyes and turn to see who is under his gaze.

The girl and boy from 12 are both wearing black unitards, which are boring and won't get them any sponsors. Coal. God, that would be embarrassing, being from District 12. I see the girl recoil from Cato's gaze and share a smirk with him.

"She's weak," I mutter to him.

"Oh, I don't know. She did volunteer. Remember?"

"What?"

"The Election, it was shown on the television… Oh. You were stuck in your room that day, right?" Cato laughs a little, but I see pity in his eyes.

"Don't remind me," I scowl, crossing my arms, glaring at 12 and turning away to stare at the boy and girl from District 10. Livestock. Ha! They're always dressed as cowboys. The boy returns my gaze and tries to act tough, but he's a cripple and walks with a cane, so it's not easy to pull off. He'll undoubtedly be a victim of the bloodbath.

All the tributes this year look stupid, weak, and I'm sure I'll win. But Cato… I turn to him. He's facing the other direction, but he's still powerful, strong. It's hard to resist running my hands through his hair, even though a helmet covers it, and that wouldn't be appropriate for this situation. Instead, I look at Piqua, who is adjusting my helmet for the millionth time.

"Oh, honey, they'll love you!" She says, and I thank her as Ivor drags Cato and I over to our chariot. It's almost time to enter the stadium.

"Listen up," he whispers to both of us. "You need to act tough, but wave to the crowd anyway. They'll go into a frenzy. Especially if you wink at them."

"Yeah, whatever," I say, and hop into the chariot. It's bronze, like my dress, and drawn with black horses.

"Don't whatever me. This is all for your sponsors," Ivor says, a slight flush coming to his bright white cheeks.

"Yeah, gotcha," Cato says, and hops in beside me. We take our spears, point up, and hold them upright next to our sides.

Ghana pops up beside Ivor. "You'll do great!" She exclaims. Then the chariot lurches and we slowly pull up behind the District One tributes. As the doors slowly open, I tell Cato, "Luck getting sponsors."

"Luck," he mutters, staring at the back of the girl from One's head.

I feel like there's a pit in my stomach, but I ignore it as we enter the stadium. There are so many people that I'm glad I'm not claustrophobic. They're all screaming, my name, Cato's, and people further on are shouting things at One. Something like Marble and Limmer. "What are their names?" I ask Cato, occupied with smiling at the crowd, waving, and winking, like Ivor told me to do.

"Glimmer, and I think, Marvel."

"I feel sorry for them. With names like that…" I say, smirking as a woman with hair made of purple feathers faints at the sight of Cato. "Looks like somebody has a little crush on you," I tell him.

"Yeah, but they don't top my expectations," he growls, looking menacing.

"And what are your expectations?" I ask, cut off at the sight of something on the screens.

That something… it cannot be possible. No! District 12—they're on fire!

It's fake fire, of course, so they're not burnt to crisps, but that doesn't matter. Twelve is weak. Twelve is supposed to have stupid, blend-in-to-the-walls tributes, which die in the bloodbath. Twelve is NOT supposed to steal the show!

I clench my fists so hard my nails draw blood, and gnaw the inside of my cheeks to keep from yelling out a million curse words. Cato is doing the same thing, I notice, because we had good outfits this year… and we are blown out of the park by damn District 12! Damn it all!

To top off the effect, they're holding hands, which has never, ever happened before in the history of the games. Do they have feelings for each other? Are they like Cato and I?

No, they are nothing like Cato and I, I decide. We are best friends, and vicious, and killers. These two… they must be weak! And yet they are getting all the sponsors! God, the girl is even blowing kisses to the crowd! Damn it, kisses!

Somehow, I manage to vent my feelings into my hands, and later on grip Cato's arm through President Snow's entire speech, because I can't stand it. That girl will be mine in the arena. Mine to kill. _Mine._

When we meet up with Ben and Evilian again, they congratulate us on our show, but I can see their flickering looks at District 12's tributes, escort, and mentor, whom I think is named Haymitch and is drunk, all the time. Haymitch and my father could be best friends if they both lived in the same district. Except, maybe Haymitch doesn't approve of ignoring your daughter all the time, since I think he had one…

If I remember correctly, the Capitol killed her.

Damn my father, damn the Capitol, damn District Twelve!

Ben and Evilian lead us to an elevator, which we take up to our floor, level Two, of course. As soon as the doors close, I take off my helmet, fling it on the floor, and let out a yell of anger. "District Twelve! I hate them! I hate them! That girl… she's a bitch! Damn both of them! And their stylists, too!" I let out a stream of curse words until I can't scream anymore, then sink down on the couch in the sitting room, which is the room we entered into.

"Losing your cool won't help you in the arena, so it will not help you now," Evilian instructs. "They should only be a threat if they have good training scores. Calm down."

"I can't calm down," I mutter, seething. Cato sits next to me and puts his arm around me, which I don't shrug off.

"We'll kill them in the arena," he whispers in my ear. "I'll take the boy, you the girl. I'll but off the legs of the boy, so he won't run away. Then I'll stick him in the heart a couple times, and blood will be everywhere. His cannon will boom, as you take down the girl." Surprisingly, this makes me relax. "You'll pin her to the ground, Clove. You'll cut off her toes, and her fingers, and her lips and her ears. Then her limbs, and she'll be begging for you to kill her, kill her now, but you won't. That braid of hers will be sliced off, and you'll slowly, slowly drag a blade across her stomach, then stick her in the head and the heart a couple times. The audience will love you, Little Clovie, and you will be a well-known contestant in the Hunger Games."

Evilian and Ben are looking at both of us quizzically, but I'm elated with the description of District Twelve's girl tribute's death. Torture. I'll torture her. And maybe, maybe I'll light her hair on fire, and get back at her for the opening ceremonies.

Smirking, I whisper "Thank you" to Cato and stand up, just as Amber, Ivor, Ghana, and both of our prep teams burst into the room.

"You did amazing!" "Pretty good." "Did you hear Effie Trinket gossiping about her tributes? Complete nonsense. Coal doesn't turn to pearls!" "We did so much better than Twelve." "The gladiator idea was fantastic!" "You should wear bronze more often, both of you." "I'm hungry, let's eat." "Don't you want to watch the replays?" "No, I'd rather eat." "Go alert an Avox." "Nice job with the winks, you two." "Did you see District 6? They had moons on their heads!" "Oh, you'll both have so many sponsors." Their voices overlap in a blur of motion, and I tell everybody, "May I just go to bed?"

Amber turns to stare at me. "Aren't you going to eat with us, LC? Then there'll be the replays, you surely don't want to miss those!"

"No, I'm so tired, I'd rather just go to bed."

Cato stares at me, then says, "Me too."

Everyone raises their eyebrows at us, then all mutter, "Okay." "If you say so." "There goes the party." "We can still have a party!"

"Good night, you two!" Ink exclaims above the rest, and I laugh. Then I saunter down the hallway, finding a room that has "District 2 Girl Tribute" labeled on the door. Cato follows me inside, but all I say is, "I need to be alone right now," and he exits.

I strip down my heavy bronze clothes, realizing I forgot my helmet, but vow to get it in the morning. Then I step in the shower, which has more buttons than the one in the train, and spend 30 minutes trying to figure it out, finally finding the button that turns on the water.

Of course, it's the button that turns on the _cold_ water.

After forever, I'm finally clean, and having scraped the makeup from my face, I feel like myself. I apply antiseptic to the crescent-moon cuts on my hands, and then throw on a large t-shirt, finally falling into bed.

I am so tired.

Just as I'm drifting off to sleep, I hear a knock on my door. It's Cato. "May I come in now?" He asks, arrogantly.

"No," I groan.

"Please? I have to talk to you."

"In the morning."

"Whatever. Good night, Little Clovie."

"Night, Cato."

And five minutes later, I'm asleep.


	8. Enjoy the Pastries

I wake up to a very energetic voice yelling in my ear.

"LC! LC! You have training! Get up already! LC!"

I jump out of bed and land both feet on the floor. Today, a gold knee-length dress adorns Amber, and her shoes are another horrific pair of neon yellow high heels. "I'm up," I growl.

"Hurry," Amber says, unfazed. "Training starts in forty-five minutes."

"Do me a favor, and wake me up a little earlier, will you?"

"I'm sorry, LC, but I only just got up."

"Whatever." I roll my eyes and escape into my shower, where I decide to experiment. I end up clenching my teeth as freezing cold lavender-scented water cleans thick, gooey lotion from my hair (a long story, I wasn't standing in the correct place). I also push a button that releases clove-scented mist into the bathroom. Finally, I finish, having wasted twenty minutes of my time.

Well, at least I'm clean.

I finally throw on a comfortable outfit that doesn't look too horrible. The tight leggings remind me of the training suits we would always have to wear. Training… will these three days be the last days I train?

I draw my hair back in a tight ponytail, and rush to the dining room of our floor. Cato's already up, as always, and Evilian's forehead is wrinkled in concentration over what, I don't know. Ben's eating pastries, which I'm not allowed to even take a bite out of, and Amber is twisting her yellow curls around her finger, fretting over my absence.

"There you are!" She exclaims, as I sit down.

"I'm here, don't act like I wasn't ever going to come out of my room," I mutter.

I load my plate with some sort of squared bread, which I think it's called a Belgian waffle. I don't know what Belgian means, but as I take a bite of the heavenly waffle, I don't even care.

Cato glances at me, then hands me maple syrup, which is a rarity in District 2 but I've tried a couple times since I live in the Victor's Village. "Drizzle this on," he says, and then points to a stick of butter right in front of me. "Then put some of that on it. Trust me, I had one, and it tastes great," he smirks. Cato's not really capable of smiling, since he's pretty ruthless and doesn't have much to smile about, anyway. Smirks are good enough for me, though.

I oblige, and the next time I take a bite my eyes widen.

Belgian waffles are heaven, all right.

"Oh, look at you!" Amber trills. "I knew you'd love the food here. Everyone does. Just wait until one of you becomes victor… then you can visit, and have as many waffles as you want!" With a bright beam, she takes a sip of her hot tea.

Evilian checks her watch. "Okay, you two, in ten minutes, you'll go down there. Don't bother even hiding your talents, especially you, little girl; I'm sure everyone will underestimate you. Stick to your weapons, show off, do perfect, and don't bother about survival skills. The Cornucopia and your sponsors will take care of all that!"

I glance at her, then Cato, and laugh in delight. Show off? Do perfect? Perfect is what I do best. Just give me a target, and a knife, and I'll show you.

_Especially _if that target is someone, oh, let's see, like the girls from districts 1 and 12. What are their names? Glimmer and… who? I'll have to ask Cato about that one.

"So that's it?" I ask Evilian and Ben, who turns his face toward the ground and inhales his pastries. Powdered sugar pastry. Gone. Jelly-filled one. Gone. Intricately decorated mini-cake. Disappeared. "All we have to do is do stuff we're good at?"

"No. Try out others, too," Ben whispers.

Evilian throws her head back and says haughtily, "Bert is right. Try out all the weapons, because you never know what the Seneca Crane and the Gamemakers will decide to put in the Cornucopia." So now she's calling Ben, Bert. Shouldn't she take the time to learn her co-mentor's name?

"Got it," says Cato, smirking again. "Simple."

"And don't even try to fight anyone until you get into the arena. Little girl, I know you have anger issues."

Anger issues? Cato's the one with the anger issues. I remember, when I was eleven, Cato simply exploded when his first girlfriend dumped him.

_It was a beautiful day._

_Mica and Cato were sitting next to each other on his porch swing. I was just taking a walk, and was thinking that maybe we could hang out under Ghostlium, our tree, but I could see he was busy talking to her._

_ I was happy for him, but I was a little jealous that they were spending all of their time together. I hated being the third wheel. Maybe Cato could take some time off from his girlfriend and come hang out with his best friend for a change!_

_ There were only a couple of us kids who had parents who were victors. Cato and I, of course, and a girl named Tessa and a boy named Mauleke. Mauleke, he lived nearer to Cato than I did, and he seemed to be taking a walk too._

_ But that wasn't his intention._

_ He pranced past Cato's house and called out Mica's name. "I need to talk to you for a second!"_

_ "Okay!" She came bounding down Cato's porch steps as he gazed after her, confused and a little hurt. I knew something was up, so I ran over to a bush near to them and hid in it._

_ "Mica, what are you _doing_ with that jerk?" Mauleke questioned, and I had clenched my fists to keep from running over and punching him in the face._

_ "He's sweet," Mica pouted, sticking out her lower lip. Her blonde hair swirled around her head like a tornado._

_ "He's stupid," Mauleke replied. "Mica. I've loved you forever. Dump Cato, date me!"_

_ "Oh, but I can't, that's just not right," she said, and I glanced at Cato from behind the bush. He was clenching his fists like I was, with a blank look on his face. Then, in a moment, his emotions shone through—first shock, then grief, then anger, than complete, utter rage. I saw him try to bury his thoughts in another blank expression, but he couldn't manage. Now, what was he angry about?_

_ Mica and Mauleke—they were kissing. Passionately kissing, in the middle of the sidewalk, right in front of Cato. And I had the feeling that they weren't stopping soon._

_ I saw Cato's mouth open, ready to shout at them, but I was too quick for my best friend. I raced out of my bush and delivered a punch to Mica's head, which knocked her out cold. Then I ran after Mauleke, but he was long gone. Finally, I rushed to Cato, who was still in shock._

_ "What the heck?" He said, and then realized what I had just done. _

_ "You should have let me take them! I knew it all along. Mica was deceiving me. How COULD she? After all I've done for her? HOW DARE YOU, CLOVE!" He lunged at me, but I sidestepped, and then grabbed his shoulders. "Cato, Cato, calm down. Calm down. It's all right. You can get them later."_

_ He let out a scream of rage and broke the porch swing he was recently just sitting on. "She dumped me! She dumped ME! ME, CLOVE! NOBODY dumps Cato!"_

_ "Calm down, Cato. She's knocked out. She didn't know what hit her. You can get back at her later. Come on, let's go to the park."_

_ "I'm not GOING to any DAMN PARK let me GO!"_

_ I kept a firm grip on his shoulders, the wise eleven-year-old that I was, and led him all the way to the park, him yelling curse words at me the whole way._

_When we reached Ghostlium, he had calmed down considerably. "I'm so sorry, Clove, I don't know what got into me, it's just that Mica, she…"_

"_Don't worry about it, Cato, I understand. Forget about it."_

"_I'll try," he said, and then both Cato and I sat there, hand in hand, under that old, sparse-leaved tree, until the Timekeeper tolled 6:30._

_What I didn't realize, though, that Cato wasn't over it. His anger hadn't faded away, like I thought._

_Because the next day, a thirteen-year-old boy by the name of Mauleke Winters was found dead in the middle of the street._

_Cato got his revenge._

_And thing is, I cannot blame him._

I've been staring at Evilian a little too long, I think, because she's shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "Anger issues? Cato's the one with anger issues," I reply.

Cato glares at me. "I do not!"

"Hmm, wonder why they found that boy dead on the street?" I say, sarcastically. "I can't seem to remember, can you explain to me?"

Cato's face turns red with anger and frustration, because he knows I'm right. Under the table his fists are clenched, but he says nothing.

"Dead boy?" Amber looks repulsed, so she busies herself with checking her watch. "Oh, my, look at the time! Come on, LC, you're going to love the Training Center! You too, Cato!" In an attempt to lighten the mood, Amber stands up so fast she topples right over.

There is a moment of silences as everybody else waits for somebody else to rush over and help her up, so I take the chance. "Are you okay, Amber?"

"Oh, I'm fine, LC, just a little off-balance." She struggles to her feet, grabs a chair to regain her balance on her million-inch high heels, then snaps, "What are you all doing staring at me? I'm not an old lady. Go, go, I can make it to the elevator just fine."

I wheel around and walk to the elevator, Cato and Amber right behind me. Evilian calls over her shoulder, "Remember what I said!"

"Great!" I say, with no enthusiasm. "Enjoy the pastries!"

I hear, for the first time, Ben laughing. "Oh, we will," he mutters, and the elevator doors close on the picture of him stuffing yet another in his greedy mouth.

**Okay, I know I haven't written an author's note in forever, so here's one. **

**I really hope everyone likes the story so far. I've been incorporating little flashbacks here and there, like the one about Cato's girlfriend (shown above) and the one where he tried to kiss Clove. There will most likely be a couple more, and if you have any ideas, please PM or review me! I really would appreciate more reviews!**

**Thanks everyone for reading. I know I'm one of those people who look for Clato stories that are longer than 10,000 words, and hope that **_**The Gouge in the Table**_** pleases people who are like me**_**.**_** Please enjoy, and R&R!**

**-Ibbonray**


	9. Short-Circuited

When the elevator dings and the doors swing open, the tributes from One, Four, Five, and Seven are already there. I size up the eight teenagers in front of me as Amber quips out her good byes.

"Good luck, LC! Bye! I'll see you when training's over! Remember, stick to the weapons!"

I step out of the elevator, rolling my eyes when I'm sure she cannot see. Sarcastically, I turn back around, and answer her. "Bye, Ambs!" I trill in a super-sweet voice.

The doors close on her lit-up face, and I glance at Cato, trying to share a look with him saying, _Isn't-she-just-sickening?_ But he's just staring at Glimmer, and she's obviously faking not noticing, while tossing her head back and forth.

I feel a pang in my stomach, and turn away to glare at Marvel, who was observing me. "What do _you_ want?" I snap.

"Oh," he says playfully. "I was debating whether I should kill you or if I should ask you out."

On hearing this, Cato turns around and growls, "Don't ask her out." When did he become so overprotective?

Marvel's hands go up. "Okay, okay! What, are you her guardian angel?"

Choosing to ignore this, Cato looks back to Glimmer. "So, are we in an alliance, or what?"

Glimmer smiles at Cato, bats her eyelashes, and gushes, "I don't know why anybody _wouldn't_ want to be in an alliance with _you."_

"I wouldn't," somebody pipes up from across the room. I spin on my heel and turn around to face the girl from 10. I didn't realize she was here. Actually, a lot of tributes have arrived in the time that we were talking to each other.

"Oh yeah?" Glimmer says to the girl. "Well you'd never be good enough to be in our alliance anyway."

For the first and last time in my life, I agree with her. "Way to go, 10!" I smirk. "You are now on the top of our kill list."

She's shaking now, and Marvel laughs at her, just as the elevator doors open to admit the tributes from Eleven.

"So, the alliance is official?" Cato asks us.

"Wait!" The girl from Four rushes over to us. "I would like to be in the alliance. I _am_ from District 4, you know. And so would my partner." She gestures to the boy behind her, a curly-haired kid that looks about twelve.

"In our alliance?" I echo, snickering, but sort of feeling bad for the boy. He's small, smaller than me, anyway. He doesn't even look like he can pick up a knife, much less a sword or spear. "Yes," I tell the District 4 girl. "You can be in our alliance." I hold my hand out to shake hers, and she takes it, relieved.

I glance at Cato, then make a small gesture to the boy, giving my best friend a look that says, _He can't be in our alliance._ When Cato finally understands what I'm doing, the Four girl has already introduced herself and her partner.

"I am Marina, and this is Krill. Oh, we are so glad you've let us into your alliance!"

"What?" Cato guffaws. "Clove only said _you_ could be in our alliance, not the kid."

"You mean…" Marina pales. The kid, Krill, slowly backs away.

"Cato's right. He's much too small," Glimmer chips in.

Marina is glancing from Krill to us. Then she fixes me with a glare. "She's practically the same height!" She says, pointing at me.

"Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I'm older and better with weapons, hmm?" I put my hands on my hips. "Make a choice, Four. You either stay with the kid, or stay with us. Your choice. And if you choose him, I'll guarantee you a long, painful death."

She's trembling now, and Krill, who is now standing where he originally was, speaks up. "Marina, don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

His reassurance obviously relieves her of the doubt, so she straightens up and tucks her long, straight black hair behind her ears. "Okay, I'm with you."

The elevator doors open again, and out come District 12. I check my watch and snicker. Three minutes late. It might be cool to come late to some parties, but I'm sure this one has no exceptions. The Gamemakers, who I see are located right above us, are getting restless.

I fix the girl from Twelve with my I'm-About-To-Kill-You look, then whisper to Cato, "What's her name?"

"I think it's… Catnest?" He says, unsure.

I roll my eyes and ask Marvel the same question. "Katniss," he confidently quips, and gives me a big, lazy grin.

What I wouldn't do to wipe that smile off his face. But I have to admit, Marvel does have a better memory than Cato.

Atala, the Head Trainer, claps her hands to get our attention. "Okay, everyone, gather around, and listen up. Welcome to the Training Center." I glance at the stations set all over the room, then at the tributes. Some of them don't deserve to be welcomed to the Training Room. For instance, the girl from District 12, Katniss or Fire Girl or whatever.

"In two weeks twenty-three of you will be dead, and only one of you will be alive. Who that is depends on how well you listen over the next four days, especially to what I am about to say. First off, no fighting with other tributes, you'll have plenty of time for that in the arena. My advice is don't ignore the survival skills. Everyone wants to grab a sword but most of you will die of natural causes. Ten percent from infection. Twenty percent from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife."

Atala, who is tall, dark-skinned, and athletic, proceeds to read off the stations. I zone out. Exposure doesn't kill as easily as a knife. Not if that knife belongs to Clove Saber. I smile at the thought.

"What are you smiling about?" Glimmer says, waving her hand in front of my face, and I scowl at her, seeing that Atala has already dismissed us and let us begin our training. "Only thinking of all the ways I'll kill you if you keep cozying up to Cato," I tell her, then stalk off toward the knife station. They'll make me feel better. They always make me feel better.

The trainer is pleased to have someone at his station, and rushes over to me. Does he think I don't know what I'm doing? Does he think I'm from a horrible District?

"Do you need any help? I can set it to the basic setting for you," he offers. I put on my I'm-About-To-Kill-You face. And I actually mean it this time.

"You think I need any help? Damn those Peacekeepers, if you set it to basic, I'll kill you on the spot!" I growl.

"Oh, you're from… you're from Two. I'm sorry, I thought it said Twelve. I… I… I'm so sorry. What setting?"

"That's right," I say sweetly. "Stutter away. You want to meet twelve, go and tie knots. Now, what is the maximum setting again?" I pick up a knife from the rack in front of me. This one is smooth, perfect, and dainty, with a slightly serrated blade and the most severe tip I've ever seen. I love it.

"Oh, the highest setting is level twelve, but anyone who's tried it hasn't come out uninjured. The targets always come at them so fast that they're knocked out, have a concussion…" He trails off when I fix him with a menacing stare.

"You will set it to level twelve, and you will back away, and you will watch. _Everyone_ will watch." Oh, this is the most ideal feeling ever… the feeling of being in control!

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's much too dangerous for such a small person. We don't want any dead tributes before the games."

I rush to him and put the knife up to his neck. "Small person, hmm? You will do this, or I will kill you," I purr, then back away before any Peacekeepers can see. The trainer squeaks and rushes to the computer, where he taps a couple things and backs away.

Already in stance, I sweep all the knives into accessible reach on the table in front of me. The machine counts down, and when it reaches zero, the targets will start to move toward me.

I glance around to see that almost everyone is watching me, even Cato, for once. My heart skips a beat.

I've been so good on keeping this feeling buried deep, and I curse my mind. _Why do I have to be so weak at the moments where I am supposed to be strong?_

Turning back to the targets, I pick up a knife. "Three, two, one, zero," the robotic voice says, and a life size dummy rushes toward me.

_Bam._ A knife is in his chest. The machine quickly turns him away. If I don't manage to hit a target perfectly, it will just keep rushing at me until it knocks me over, and that cannot happen or I'll be all over the news. _Clove Saber has been injured from being knocked over by a dummy!_ I can almost visualize the headlines.

I relax, and pick up two more knives, throwing them at the same time into regular circular targets. Simple. There's never enough of a challenge.

I'm lost in the world of throwing knife after knife after knife when the setting is complete. The trainer and everyone else in the room sit or stand open-mouthed, staring at me.

"You have a harder setting? That was way too simple," I say sweetly to the trainer.

"N—no I don't. Did you really just do that?"

"Do what?" I say casually, using the dainty knife again to chip off some of my bronze nail polish left over from last night. Then look up to see that everyone is _still_ staring at me. Even though the attention is exhilarating, I have to dismiss it. "Go on. Train. Put me on your dangerous list, I don't care. Do whatever," I smirk. Then time seems to enter again and everyone is busy.

Marvel walks up to me. "That was so damn amazing, Clove," he says, shaking his head as if still awed by my show.

"Oh, please. Don't act nice when we're just going to end up killing each other. Besides," I say. "You're probably 'so damn amazing' at whatever your choice weapon is, too."

Glimmer and Cato have trailed behind him… Marina is still at the fire station. Why anyone would want to work on survival skills when we'll have the entire Cornucopia, I don't know. But I turn my attention to my two flirtatious allies.

Glimmer laughs at me. "Clove, you are pretty good, I've got to admit. But Cato's probably just as amazing, even better." She plants a kiss right on his cheek, which makes me boil with anger.

But I keep calm, somehow. I can handle my anger just fine. "I'm sure, Glimmer, if you paid more attention to his skills, you would have left out the probably. You see, my best friend and I are evenly matched." Smirking, I head off to the spear station, almost laughing when Glimmer says quizzically, "Best friends?"

I'm not too bad at spears. They're just so much heavier than knives. After a couple times of hitting the target, I move away from the station just as they call us for lunch.

At the lunch table, both Glimmer and I sit next to Cato, Glimmer practically in his lap and me letting him have a little personal space. Marvel and Marina sit across from us, Marvel shoveling meat into his mouth as Marina sucks on an orange peel.

"So," I say, trying to make conversation at our silent table. "Who should we terrorize next?" I glance at all of the tributes, spread out over the span of the dining area. The closest tributes flinch as they hear my voice, and I give them all knowing smirks.

Cato looks around the room, trying to see around Glimmer, who gets in his face and bats her eyelashes. I turn away, flushing in anger, and search for a good target as well. Katniss and What's-His-Name from Twelve catch my eye. They are laughing over some silly joke Katniss has made. Idiotic! But new information files itself in my head.

What's-His-Name is looking at Katniss just the same way that Glimmer looks at Cato. That _I _probably look at Cato. God, damn it.

"How about Three?" Marvel says, interrupting my train of thought.

"Perfect!" Glimmer squeals. "So who goes over there?"

"I will, definitely," I say. "It was my idea in the first place. Who else?"

Cato says, "Count me in."

"Marina, want to come?" I ask her.

"No, I'm fine right here," she replies quietly, looking extremely interested in her orange slice.

"Okay," I say, dragging Cato away, as Glimmer and Marvel protest. "Go terrorize someone else!" I call to them.

"You and me again?" Cato teases, and I punch him in the arm.

"I've got news," I tell him. "Looks like What's-His-Name from Twelve…"

"Peeta," Cato interrupts.

"Pita? Like, the bread?" I ask.

"No, like P-E-E-T-A Peeta."

"Whatever! P-E-E-T-A from Twelve has got feelings for Fire Girl!" I tell him quietly, crossing my arms.

"And you know that by what, eavesdropping?" Cato smirks, as if picturing me spying on them kissing somewhere. I scowl and clench my fists beneath my crossed arms.

"Yeah, right, Cato. Have you _seen_ his lovesick face?"

"So Lover Boy's weakness is Catnest," Cato says seriously.

"Mhmm, you mean _Katniss._" We approach the tributes from Three from behind, and I whisper in his ear, "What now?"

He whispers back, "How about we each grab a glass of water, dump it on their heads, and go from there. I'll take the kid."

"Great. But they're both kids," I remind him.

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever. I'll take the boy."

Both of their heads are down, staring at their food. I hold a finger to my lips as we sneak to their sides, each grab a glass of water, and dump it on their heads.

The girl shrieks and grabs her hair, jumping up and flinging her wet hair away from her eyes. Then she sees me, the person who poured the water on her, and freezes. I see the scared look in her eyes.

"What's your name, idiot?" I say, taking the dainty knife that I stole out of its place in my boot and twirling it around in my fingers.

"C—Circuit. My name is Circuit." She stutters. What is with all these stuttering people? Is it that I'm the most vicious person they've ever encountered?

I hope so. I really hope so.

"Circuit," I repeat, and she nods her head. "Well, Circuit, I think your brain has short-circuited, because if I were you, I would be running right now."

I advance on her with the knife, and she takes off to the other side of the dining area, shaking with fear. I wasn't really going to cut her. She did exactly what I expected… ran. Everybody runs from Clove Saber. I laugh.

Meanwhile, Cato is dealing with the boy. The boy keeps eating his food, like nothing happened.

I see the glass of water in 3 boy's hand before Cato does. And just like that, Cato's soaked too.

Peacekeepers are gathering around the dining area, obviously anticipating a fight that will need to be broken up. And their wishes are fulfilled.

"You did not just do that," Cato says, seething, hair gleaming in the sun that streams through the windows. He looks _so_ amazing with his hair wet, but I say nothing. "You did _not_ just do that."

Then Cato is running at Three, pinning him to the wall and choking him. The boy's eyes bulge as the Peacekeepers rush in to break it up. Cato returns to me, shirt drenched and anger in his electric blue eyes.

"How dare he!" Cato says.

"Come on, Cato, it was just an incident. Get him in the arena."

"But now I am soaked," he says, pulling at his wet hair.

"Anger issues, Cato, anger issues. Control yourself. Besides, I know what Glimmer will say when we walk a couple more yards."

"What? That I look like a wet dog?"

I laugh and punch him in the arm again, not lightly. Then I imitate Glimmer's high-pitched, flirtatious voice. "Oh, Cay-Cay, you look so _hot_ right now!" Then I stride to our table and slide in between Marvel, who looks annoyed that he wasn't in on the fight, and Marina, who is as poker-faced as ever.

Cato gives me a look, and then sits next to Glimmer.

Just as I anticipated; "Oh, Cato, you are like the _hottest _person in Panem!"

And she probably says the same thing about Finnick Odair.


	10. The M Twins

**Hey! (This is an Author's Note, by the way.) Hope everyone's enjoying the story so far. This chapter's a little short, but I want to get to some action, such as the fight between Cato and the District 6 male, and Thresh saying no to the alliance! **

**Okay, I totally understand if I'm making Clove's time in the Training Center waaaaaaay too long, but I want to describe every detail. It's a habit of mine.**

**Need help… whom to terrorize next? I have a poll up, so if you can, please put in your vote!**

**Plus, if anybody has a flashback idea, THEY ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED. Those two first ones may have been good, but they were just lucky ideas. **

**Thanks again! You guys are awesome. I'll try to post everything as often as possible. Please, review if you've got a tip and CRITICIZE FREELY!**

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**-TheGirlThatShipsClato, Em74, 3PeetaAndKatniss3, and Maya for reviewing!**

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**-And EVERYONE who has found the time to read at least some of **_**The Gouge in the Table.**_

**Happy Reading!**

**-Ibbonray**

A helping of some sort of stringy meat (Marvel says it's called pulled pork) on a bun, thirteen complaints from a sopping wet boy, and eighty-seven flirting attempts of from a desperate blonde later, it's back to the training center. I can't say I'm not relieved. Everyone was getting on my nerves, Marvel because he's way too talkative, Marina because she's much too quiet, Glimmer because of her obvious flirting attempts and Cato because of the ice-cold water that was poured all over him.

His whining isn't necessary, since _he _was the one who suggested water!

It won't be long until the water turns to sweat, anyway.

Since I'm bored with the knives, I follow Cato to the sword station. The trainer already knows him from this morning, and is pleased to have him back. Giving him a sword that matches his weight, the trainer goes over to the kid from seven, who is struggling with a sword much too big for him.

"What are you doing over here, Little Clovie?" Cato says, tossing his sword into the air and re-catching its hilt.

"Are you saying I'm not allowed to watch?"

"Maybe I am, maybe I am. Maybe you just want some lessons," he replies, eyebrows shooting up in a wide smirk.

"Yeah, right," I scowl. "You know I can't use a sword for my life. I freaking _suck."_

"There's a chance that there'll be only swords in the arena."

"After I show the Gamemakers my knife skills? Forget about it," I snap.

"Whatever you say, Little Clovie." He turns to a dummy.

"Don't call me Little Clovie," I mumble to his back.

Glancing over his shoulder, he smirks. "I know you secretly love it. Besides, how are you going to stop me?"

I decide to just walk away before I attack him, which would instantly suspend me from training. Now, what to do next?

There's a line at the obstacle course with bars hanging from the ceiling, so I get in the back. This could get me a little attention, and who knows if the whole arena has bars hanging from the ceiling? I know Evilian told me no survival skills, but this barely counts as surviving skills. Lifting weights does the same thing. They both provide you with stronger arms.

I watch as a boy, I don't know from what district, slips from a bar and tumbles to the ground, which is a good eight feet. I laugh to myself as he gets up from his crumpled heap and limps away.

Next up is Fire Girl. She's pretty good, and at least makes it to the end—but not as fast as I can. After that is the girl from Ten, who puts both hands on the bar, steps into open air, and immediately falls.

This time I actually let out my laugh, and she glares at me. "What do _you_ want?" She grumbles.

"Well, someone's a little moody," I comment, as she moves away from the station. "Hey, break a leg next time, will you?"

"Oh, sure," the girl says sarcastically, but I can see the worried expression on her face. I'm up next.

The bars are greased so they're slippery, and at one certain spot a club swings down at your hands so you have to get out of the way, fast. But besides that, it's just like the Training Center at home. I grab the first bar, and swing to the next.

Halfway across, the club swings down on my hands and I make a mad leap for the next bar. I make it—thank God. The rest of the course is simple, but I make a show of myself by climbing to the top of the last bar, standing on it, and performing a triple front flip to the ground.

I stick it. Just like they taught at District 2's Training Center.

Gotta love that place.

From the other side of the room, I hear loud clapping from a single person. And who should it be but… Marvel?

"Yeah, Clove!" He shouts, with the faintest trace of sarcasm in his voice. "Dump your freaky large best friend/guardian angel and date me, please!"

"In a million years, Marvel-Boy," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Aren't nicknames the first hint of a relationship?" He laughs, winking at me.

"Noticed you haven't called me a nickname, Marvel-Boy."

Cato comes up behind Marvel and grabs his shoulders. "Did I hear something about a relationship?"

Suddenly I'm so angry I want to burst. Glimmer's been flirting with him, and he flirts back… why can't Marvel and I do the same? Though I know that Marvel will never, _ever _be 'the one'. He's one of those guys who fool around, dating millions of girls and getting bad grades and pulling pranks left and right during training, even though they can be freaky good at handling weapons.

"Yes, you did," I tell Cato sweetly. "Marvel and I were just talking about you and Glimmer. If we weren't in the Games, I have a feeling that you would totally be in a relationship with her! Of course, that would mean flirting all the time and not considering your best friend's feelings about her, which has already been done, in front of my very eyes. Now, I'm just going to walk away now…" I turn and stalk away.

"What's the matter with her?" Cato mutters.

"No idea," Marvel replies, thankfully keeping our conversation private. "I think she's just lost her marbles. Hey! That's an idea! I'm Marvel, and she could be Marble! Marvel-Boy and Marble-Girl! The M twins!"

"Shut it, Marvel," says Cato.

I roll my eyes as Marvel runs up to me with his newfound, idiotic idea, shouting, "Clove! CLOVE!"

Hands on hips, I spin on my heel. "What?" I say it more like a statement than a question.

"Want to be part of the M twin group? I know you heard me."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Who am I again?" I say sweetly.

"Marble-Girl," he replies giddily.

"Well, Marvel, maybe we should switch our names around. Because with this new nickname thing, I think _you're_ the one who's lost their marbles."

Laughing, I head over to the hand-to-hand-combat station, but I can tell he doesn't take anything that I say seriously.

"Sounds great! See ya, Marvel-Girl!"

"Later, Marble-Boy!"


	11. Caught in the Net

After a little hand-to-hand combat with the woman at that station, I am bored. Maybe it is how quiet the entire training room is, maybe the fact that I am itching to terrorize another district, maybe the fact that I win every single time. Before long I am back at the knives, hurling them at the targets that are set to level 12, and I beat my high score again and again.

After I am bored with _that,_ I lean against a wall, chipping nail polish off my fingernails with the dainty knife I stole, and watch all the others train. Marina is at the knot station, and I watch from a distance as she creates an entire net in less than ten minutes.

Cocking my head to the side, I examine her. She's tall, and has pretty good muscle tone. Her black hair is shiny and reaches the middle of her back, and her eyebrows knit in concentration as she ties another knot to finish the net off. Based on her appearance, she can probably handle knives pretty well, with the way she cuts the length of rope she holds, but not as well as I can. And with these knot skills… who knows? Maybe we can ensnare a couple tributes in them.

I walk over to her and tap her shoulder. With quick reflexes, she jumps up from her net and stands as if ready for a fight.

"Oh, it's you," she says, relaxing a bit when she sees it's only me, but still looks tense, as if I'm over here to seriously hurt her.

Which I could if I wanted to—it would be easy.

"You're good," I tell her.

"What?"

"Good at tying knots. Want to seal your spot in our alliance completely? Make a couple of those nets in the arena. It will do you good."

"Oh." She slouches her shoulders and returns to tying her net onto a fake tree. "Well, I guess I can take your word for it."

"Hey, what's with you and Krill?" I smirk.

Turning around, she stares at me intensely. "Do you have siblings? Any younger people you feel like you need to care for?"

"No…"

She sighs and returns to the net. "Then you wouldn't understand."

I nod and stand to the side as she sets the net up in complicated ways I cannot follow. Soon, she wipes her hands on her thighs and stands straight up. "I want you to step right here," she tells me, pointing.

Confused, I step to where she's pointed, and instantly I am lifted up from the ground. I scream and thrash around, trying to kill my attacker.

"Won't do you any good," Marina says from somewhere behind me, laughing.

"What won't do me any good? PUT ME DOWN!" I yell at this person who has unbelievably scratchy clothes.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Says Marvel from somewhere to my left. "Marvel-Girl is yelling at a net."

"A net?" I ask, confused, but then it all clicks. Marina has trapped me in a snare. "Oh, ha-ha, very funny." I take out my knife and cut myself free.

"Hey!" Marina yells indignantly. "That took me a long time to make!"

"Is ten minutes a long time?" I brush off my clothes, redo my ponytail, put on my I'm-About-To-Kill-You face, and walk away, right into Cato.

"Watch it," he says, steadying me.

"Why are _you_ here?" I say viciously, glancing at Glimmer, who's behind him.

"I heard you screaming," he says, hurt.

"Yeah, Marvel-Girl, you were pretty loud," Marvel says, exchanging a knowing glance with Marina.

"Shut it, Marbles," I snap. "I wouldn't think my screams would matter to you anymore. Surely Glimmer is much more important than _me."_

I eye her blonde locks of hair, and then it comes to me—the perfect comeback for her flirting.

Cato's eyes are wide and angry, and I'm surprised he holds it together. The last time he exploded was at least a year ago.

_I was in a really, really bad mood that day._

_ The trainers had demanded us to stay behind and train for three extra hours. I came home angry and tired, having trained fifteen hours that day._

_ I don't know why he was in my house, but there he was, lounging on my front porch and fast asleep. _

_ "What are you doing here?" I said harshly, and he jerked awake, hands in the air._

_ "Just need to talk to you, Little Clovie."_

_ "Fine, come in the damn house," I sighed, desperately wanting to enter it alone and lay my head on my pillow._

_ He did. I had tossed him a banana and plucked a grapefruit out of the bowl for myself to eat._

_ "Get on with it," I told him as he peeled his banana. "Or I will fall asleep right here in this chair."_

_ "Maybe this isn't the time…" he muttered, taking a deep breath._

_ "You're in here, this is as good a time as any." I took a knife from my satchel, placed my grapefruit a couple feet away from me, and threw the blade. It cut the grapefruit clean in half. Satisfied, I lifted the fruit to my mouth and sucked some of its sour juice._

_ "Well, I've been meaning to say this for about two years now, Clove, and I think you're amazing. And… and… I love—" _

_ Cato was cut off by loud knock on the door._

_ I had been frozen still, but snapped out of it. "Shit," I mumbled, and ran to the door to find my boyfriend, Enther, standing in the doorway. _

_ "Hey, can I come in?" Enther had asked. He was a redhead that acted pretty sweet and innocent, until you saw him swing that mace… then you knew you were in trouble._

_ "I'm sorry," I apologized profusely. Cato had no idea about Enther, but I had a feeling he'd be insanely jealous if he knew I had a boyfriend. "I'm sort of busy right now. Catch you tomorrow?"_

_ Enther flashed me an easy-going smile. Even though he was a great guy, and I didn't know what love was, I knew what I had with him was nothing close to that unknown feeling. We were just friends, and we both liked each other's weapon skills. But Cato had had too many girlfriends to count, so I figured, why couldn't I?_

_ "Great. Night, Clove," he said, and I shut the door, turning to face Cato in the kitchen._

_ Cato's face was so red I had troubles holding back my hysterical laugh. "Who. Was. That?" He raged in a jerky manner._

_ "Oh, just, you know," I searched for an answer, but then decided to tell him the truth. When I did, my voice was pitched an octave higher. "The boyfriend I never told you about?"_

_ "WHAT?" Cato ran at me and put his hands around my throat. Then I couldn't breathe. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"_

_ I clawed at my throat and his grip got looser so I could speak, but not loose enough to let me go._

_ "Jeez, Cato, you've had so many. Enther's a great guy. Why should you care, anyway?"_

_ "BECAUSE!" Cato shouted. "Because YOU NEVER TOLD ME!"_

_ "I knew you were going to be like this," I gasped. "Calm down already! And stop being so protective, I'm fourteen! I can handle a boyfriend."_

_ "You never even got to hear what I had to say," he muttered, still red in the face, and let me go. "If you don't dump him I'll kill you."_

_ Kill me? Kill me? I forced the lump in my throat to go away. He wouldn't kill me. He wouldn't dare. I picked myself up off the ground, glared at him, and ran full-sprint to my room, locking the door. Cato ran after me, and pounded on the door for a full hour and a half._

_ Finally, the pounding stopped, and I assumed he had left, but I had to check. I slowly opened the door and found him leaning against the wall, sound asleep._

_ I knew if he didn't get home, his mother would wonder. He'd been caught sleeping with girls plenty of times before, and she would ground him for life if she thought he'd been with another tonight. Plus, he was too heavy to carry._

_ And so I got out that old wagon of my father's from the garage, managed to get Cato into it, (he sleeps like a rock) and pulled him all the way home in the middle of the night._

_ I could wake him up, but I couldn't get myself to perform the task. Maybe because he looked like a small, innocent little kid when he was sleeping. Maybe I was scared that he would go on another rampage._

_ But once I managed to get him safely onto his living room couch, I decided. I was letting him sleep because I was his best friend, and would be forever._

_ Cato and Clove, forever and ever._

_ Just Cato and Clove._

As he and Glimmer turn away, I put my finger to my lips motioning for Marvel and Marina to be quiet, and sneak up behind Glimmer. I take out my knife, and then cut off a lock of her hair. She's so busy flirting with Cato she doesn't even notice.

Laughing to myself, I tuck the blonde hair in my pocket. You can see a chunk of her hair missing from behind, too. Step one of my plan is finished.

Then, Seneca Crane announces from the balcony, "Tributes, your Training time is up! You may proceed back to your rooms at this time."

Marvel comes behind me and whispers in my ear, "What was that for?"

"Oh, Marble-Boy, you just have to wait and see," I smirk.

"So the M Twins thing is still on?"

"You bet." I head into the elevator with the kids from District Three, Five, Seven, Marvel, and the little girl from Eleven. The girl from Five eyes me curiously, glancing between Marvel and I. Her red hair reminds me of blood, and I can imagine blood dripping down her head, in a never-stopping flow…

"Yes, Five?" Marvel says, crossing his arms.

She says one word. "Finch."

"Yes? Are you calling me a finch?"

"My _name_ is _Finch._" She says slowly. I glance at her annoyed expression, and decide that she looks nothing like a finch… more like a fox.

"Sure, Foxface," I growl, and she just turns her hazel eyes to the ceiling, as if inspecting it. I do too.

Nothing but black and white paint flecks—It's so boring I can't resist flinging my knife into it.

Foxface/Finch keeps her blank expression on and simply observes the stolen knife.

I roll my eyes and jump to get the knife, but can't reach it.

"Short, aren't you?" Marvel snorts, reaching up and retrieving the knife for me. The doors open to his floor, and he exits, calling, "Have fun with the kids, Marvel-Girl!"

I laugh and glance at the teenagers who I'm stuck with in the elevator. "Good idea, Marble-Boy. This will be _so_ much fun," I purr.

Districts Three and Seven cower against the glass walls, along with the boy from Five, but Foxface and the girl from Eleven—(what's her name? Blue?)—Just stand there, both staring at the ceiling of the elevator.

I twirl my knife between my fingers as the bell dings my floor. "Have a great time staring at the ceiling!" I tell both the girls sweetly as I enter onto the plush green carpet.

Looking back, Foxface and Blue are still staring at the ceiling.

**Author's Note:**

**Hoped that chapter was okay. I know I decided that Clove should cut a lock of Glimmer's hair off, but seriously, mistake-of-the-day… I still can't decide what Clove will do with it! :/ If you have any ideas, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PM me.**

**Thanks to the recent reviews from TheGirlThatShipsClato and 3PeetaAndKatniss3, and two new favoriters and followers: courtneybuscus and messygreenroom. I appreciate it so much, guys!**

**Happy reading, Ibbonray.**


	12. I Always Win

When I've returned, I go straight to my room, wishing to be alone. I order from the menu on the wall and receive a bowl of garbure soup with pommes duchesse one the side. The meal is delicious and I soon go back for seconds.

After I clear my plates, I set to work with my plan. Glimmer's hair is in my pocket, and I pull it out, taking just enough to pull off my plan and throwing the rest away.

I set to work, braiding the hair the way I used to braid friendship bracelets for Cato. What's funny is this is exactly what I'm doing—making Cato a bracelet out of Glimmer's hair.

When I'm finished, I tie it off and stare at it. Not bad, really… you would just assume it was extremely thin string if you didn't know that I had cut Glimmer's hair. Step two, complete.

I hear a shriek from the floor below me. Was that…? Yes, it was Glimmer. She's finally noticed that her hair isn't even at the bottom! Laughing, I take a long shower and then change into my nightclothes.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I wait. I love the quiet, and have been trained in the art of sitting still and silent.

How is my father faring back home? Has he consumed so much alcohol he's died from alcohol poisoning? But of course that was too much to hope for. My father probably returned home, found his daughter gone, laughed, and threw all of my stuff away.

How is Cinder faring? Most likely she's home from training by now, catching up on sleep, maybe watching Hunger Games reruns, maybe partying with another of her strawberry blonde friends. Forgetting that there used to be a girl at training named Clove Saber, who now has a temporary home at the Capitol.

Finally, I can't wait any longer. I slowly push open the door, noting the time, which is well past midnight. Time passes by so fast here, it's hard to believe that they're not fast-forwarding the clocks by an hour every once and a while.

Stepping light-footed on the green carpet of the hallway, I glide over to Cato's room. When I push open his door, it creaks slightly, but as I said—he sleeps like a rock. And yes, there he is, spread-eagle on the bed and snoring like there's no tomorrow.

Smirking, I sneak over and tie the braided bracelet that I made out of Glimmer's hair to his wrist.

Cato groans and turns over to face me, half-asleep. "Whatyoudoinghere?" He groans.

"You don't have a District token, so I gave you one," I whisper, turning away.

"No," he mumbles. "Don't go. Stay here." Cato's hand gropes for me and I whirl around, a little put off.

"You want me to… lay with you?" I venture. Oh, no. Not this again. But my heart says otherwise. I want to sleep with him, but I know I should get back to my room, but—

"Yes." Cato reaches for me and pulls me into the bed with him. Sighing, I curl up on my side as he puts his arm around me.

I try to shrug the arm off, but he has an iron grip, even when he's sleeping. He starts his rhythmic snoring again as I lie still, not daring to move. Finally, I fall asleep in the safety of Cato's room.

Light streams into my eyes and I jump up, landing in my fighting stance. It's only the sun, though. I sigh and turn back to my bed, but it's not _my _bed, it's Cato's.

And Cato is unconscious to the world as I exit his room in a flurry, desperately hoping Ben, Evilian and Amber aren't awake. They aren't—Thank God.

But it was worth it. I did tie that bracelet on his wrist, which was what I aimed to do. Also, there's this strange feeling in my gut that tells me that I actually _enjoyed_ sleeping with him.

I do not sleep with boys. This is a new feeling.

Is it… is it love?

Pushing the thought away, I get ready for the day. I take a quick shower, which I have pretty much figured out by now, and dress in athletic pants with an orange tunic and heavy combat boots. My hair is in a side ponytail today, a change from my regular style. I do a couple sit-ups and push-ups too, to warm myself up for training.

Stomping to the dining room, I take everything in about our floor. One room is labeled "Escort," two sporting the word "Mentor," and two more have shiny metal signs with "Tribute" printed on each one.

The carpet is green and plush, the walls painted bright orange, and our floor clashes horribly. That's why I love it. The colors match my personality thoroughly, especially since all the furniture is black.

When I reach the dining room, I see I'm the first one awake, for a change. The sun has just recently passed the horizon line, and the Capitol is mostly empty, with the exception of the occasional early riser.

Helping myself to two Belgian waffles, a couple beef strips, toast spread with mozzarella cheese, a large plate of scrambled eggs, and a glass of deep red juice, I dig in. I'm ravenous, considering I didn't have an extremely large meal the night before.

Evilian drifts in surprised to see me, and helps herself to a large cup of coffee. Not far behind her, our other mentor, Ben, enters too. He grabs a cream puff and sits rigid in a tall-backed chair.

"So what woke you up today, little girl?" Evilian asks.

"The sun," I say.

"Hmm." She takes a long sip of her coffee, and then gives me a long, curious glance. "Where you or were you not in Cato's room last night?"

"I—I—" I'm cut off by Amber dragging Cato in by the ear.

"Where's LC? Where's LC? Where's she gone? You are not permitted to run away from the Training Center when you're a… Oh." She relaxes her shoulders and blushes in my direction. "I didn't think you'd be up yet. Well, I must go fix my hair…"

Her hair is a little disheveled from her rant, I notice. Then Amber takes off, and Cato rubs his ear, yawning. "Don't see why it had to be my ear," he mutters.

"In the arena, you will be hurt much more than just a pinch to the ear," Evilian says, dismissing his attempts at getting sympathy. "Toughen up."

Ben reaches for another cream puff, and remarks, "Don't underestimate Amber. Make one bad remark about her favorite color and she's as intimidating as a tracker jacker."

This is the longest sentence I've ever heard Ben say, and Cato and I laugh at this. Evilian glowers and mumbles, "You have a point."

"What were you saying about my favorite color?" Amber calls, wobbling into the room.

Cato comes to the rescue. "I just wanted to know you better, so I asked Ben your favorite color. It's yellow, isn't it?"

I think that Amber will smile, laugh, and agree, but I'm wrong. She throws him a glare, gestures to her hair and clothes, and puts her hand on her hips. "Yes, you haven't noticed? Or do I just _blend_ into the walls?"

"No, no!" He says, stumbling into a chair. As if confused on what to do, he reaches for the steak and tries to cut off a piece, clearly trying to avoid any conversation with Amber.

"Having troubles with that?" I ask him, and pull out my dainty knife, throwing it at the piece of steak, slicing it in half.

"Will you _stop_ it, Clove?" Cato almost yells.

"Stop what?"

"Stop… stop… acting like you hate me! We're best friends, remember?"

I smirk. "Yes, until you decided some girl by the name of Glimmer was a better choice. Which she is, right?"

The adults watch this conversation curiously, and I'm tired of this table, with this drama, with these people. "I'm going down to the Training Center, all right?"

"But training starts in thirty minutes!" Amber exclaims, and I cut her off with a glare.

"Thirty minutes are thirty minutes, and I've waited much longer." I run to the elevator and jam the button to the basement floor into the wall.

I'm the first one in the Training Center. Even the Gamemakers aren't on the balcony yet. None of the trainers have arrived. I go over to the knife station and throw a couple until Marvel, Glimmer, and Cato arrive in the same elevator.

"Hi, Clovie!" Glimmer calls. Is she trying to be friendly now? If so, it's not working.

"Hi, Glim!" I retaliate, in the same sickening sweet accent. "So nice to see you!"

I glance at her hair. It's put up in a messy bun, hiding the fact that the bottom isn't cut evenly. Tucking my knife away in a hidden pocket in my leggings, I walk over to them.

Glimmer is all over Cato, reminding me of Mica, all those years ago. Arm flung around his shoulder, body pressed up against his. She smiles and tosses her hair while batting her eyelashes. The sight of them is so disgusting that I turn away to look at Marvel.

"So what's the plan today?" He says.

"Well," Cato answers. "Maybe we could consider—"

He is cut short by the elevator doors dinging open to reveal the tributes from Eleven.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Marvel whispers.

"I think," Cato mutters.

"What?" I say. "That Blue is pathetic?"

"_Rue!"_ Everyone corrects me.

"Whatever. _Rue_ is tiny," I correct myself.

Glimmer laughs. "She's a bloodbath victim for sure."

"Come on, I wasn't talking about Rue," Cato says, annoyed. "I was talking about Thresh."

"Tall boy with dark skin?"

"Exactly."

"Yeah, he'd be a great ally," says Marvel.

Glimmer nods a million times. "How about I ask him at lunch?" She ventures.

"No, _I'll_ talk to him at lunch," I scowl. "He doesn't look like the type to break when you flirt with him."

"Oh, yeah? Well _every_ boy breaks when I flirt with him. I haven't been turned down once."

"Well, get ready for when Cato says—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, guys, stop the arguing!" Marvel shouts.

"Seriously! I'll talk to him!" Cato shouts, as well.

Then we all spot Thresh and Rue staring at us, as well as a couple Gamemakers who have just entered, and fall silent.

When every tribute is present and Atala dismisses us to go to our separate stations, I watch Glimmer catch hold of Cato's wrist, dragging him to archery. Smirking, I see her look down at his wrist and her eyes widen as she sees the bracelet I made him.

"Where did you get that?" Glimmer screeches, and I clutch my sides, trying not to laugh.

"I don't know…?" Cato was so tired last night, he was barely awake, so I doubt he remembers anything about the 'District token' I gave him.

"Oh, don't play dumb, Cato. You cut off some of my hair and braided it and put it on your wrist!" I can envision what comes next… her slapping him in the face and never glancing at him again.

But I'm wrong, because as Cato's confused expression turns to shock, hers turns from fury to understanding. "Oh, you just wanted something to remember me by? Well, all you had to do was ask."

"What?" Cato asks, but is drowned out by her giving him a full kiss on the lips.

I turn away, in a rage. My plan has failed. Glimmer reacted the exact _opposite_ way that I had hoped for!

"Clove, you okay?" Says a soft voice to my left.

"Yeah, you look like you've just seen a ghost, Marvel-Girl."

I look up and see Marvel and Marina standing near me, concerned. Blushing, I slide my knife out of my secret hiding place.

"Maybe I have, _Marvel,_ so shut up!" I yell, and turn around, toward the archery station, where Glimmer lets an arrow fly. I pull back and fling the knife toward the arrow, and they intercept in mid-air. The arrow never reaches its target.

Because I _always_ win.

Especially if the prize is Cato.

**Okay, I've decided that I like writing Author's Notes, so they will be continuous in almost every chapter.**

**If you want to know, garbure is a stew made of meat and vegetables, and pommes duchesse are like rolls made out of potatoes.**

**Thank you, thank you, thank you, everyone, for reviewing and PM-ing me all these supportive complements. I feel like the luckiest author in the world! :) You all have great ideas and I will try to incorporate some of them.**

**I hope Clove's failed attempt at making Glimmer hate Cato is a good idea. I'm still trying to make this realistic, and if you all remember Glimmer was all over Cato even during the Games, so if she got mad at him it wouldn't make sense.**

**Plans for the future of this story: Cato and Clove will talk about this whole relationship the night before the Games, but in the time between now and the night before the Games, things are still tense between them. **

**Hey, if any of you have a flashback idea, it would be greatly appreciated!**

**Again, THANK YOU EVERYONE! I feel so blessed to have such supportive readers!**

**-Ibbonray :D**


	13. Strangely Comforting

I sit at our lunch table, clutching the side until my knuckles turn white. I just cannot stand this! Glimmer is the clingiest person in Panem!

I threw knives for a while, navigated my way through a couple obstacle courses, and then tried out spears, which I'm not bad at. They just weigh so much more than my knives. Marvel was there, and they are obviously his choice weapons.

When I was able to hit the dummy in the chest a couple times, I moved on to maces. I was definitely not as good as my old boyfriend, Enther. When I swung it, it just felt wrong in my hand. When lunchtime came around, I was relieved.

But now, not so much. Glimmer's constant gossiping and Cato's silent scowls send me almost over-the-edge furious. Even Marvel's acting like I'm somebody to watch out for.

"Clove?" Marvel asks.

"What?" I snap.

"Never mind." He strikes up a conversation with Marina about our Districts, which is mildly interesting, but I don't take part in it.

"Okay, I'm going to ask Thresh if he wants to be allies," Cato says.

"Good luck, Cay-Cay!" Glimmer gushes, and I flush in anger. Normally I'm the one to say good luck. When did our positions switch?

I watch as Cato jogs over to the table Thresh and Rue sit at. He says something to Thresh, and Thresh motions for Rue to leave, which she does.

I can't hear what Cato's saying, but I'm sure it's something along the lines of, _hey; we've been watching you in training. Would you like to be allies with us?_

Thresh shows no emotion as I read his lips. "No," he says, and turns back to his lunch.

I forget my problems with Glimmer for the moment, and watch as Cato stomps back to us with his eyes flashing and mouth streaming curse word after curse word. "That piece of shit just turned down our damn offer—don't see why we bothered! Thresh is going to pay!" He exclaims.

"That's right," I say, narrowing my eyes in Thresh's direction.

"We need to take him down soon. He is a threat," Marina calmly states.

"Well, Cay-Cay will take him, won't you, sweetheart?" Glimmer throws dreamy eyes at Cato and looks exactly like a stuffed puppy dog… not in a good way.

Cato has the good sense to ignore her.

"Or I can," Marvel says. "I've got plenty of ways. I could spear him, or I could smile and say 'I'm gay, want to be buds?' which would throw him off, then I could spear him."

"_Marvel_,_" _Marina teases.

"I think I'm going to stick to the latter." He wags his eyebrows. "What do you think, Marvel-Girl?"

I'm actually starting to feel the teeniest better, so I reply in a light-hearted tone, "Well, if you want me to dump Mr. Guardian Angel over there, I'm not sure that's the best idea." Of course, Cato and I aren't dating or anything, and never were—but anything to make Marvel laugh.

Of course, Marvel laughs, and then glances at Cato. The smile slips off his face, and mine does, too, when I see Cato and Glimmer kissing.

Oh, _great._

"Well," Marvel says in a sober tone. "I think he's dumped you."

"Really?" I mutter sarcastically.

"Yes, Marvel-Girl, now you're all mine!" He says with a cheesy smile. But I see that it's forced, and wonder if Marvel secretly yearns for Glimmer. It wouldn't be surprising.

Marina looks at Marvel in mock abandonment, and puts a hand to her chest. "But Marvel, I thought you loved _me."_

I dissolve into laughter. Cato and Glimmer have now made their way to the other side of the table, but I ignore them for now.

"No, you're wrong, he loves me!" I kid.

"Oh yeah? Let's go, right now!"

"Whoa, whoa, girls, don't fight over the hot guy," Marvel says, hands up, enjoying the attention.

"Move it, Marbles," I joke, and deliver a light punch to Marina's arm. It feels so good to laugh, have a good time, and I wonder if we were in a different situation, these two would be my friends. Probably not, but it's nice to envision it.

Marina fakes shock, and then tackles me onto the table, grabbing hold of my hair and pulling the hair band out. "Hey!" I shout indignantly, as she starts to braid my hair.

"I won," she says, smiling.

"Announcement," Marvel says in a talk-show voice. "Marina Spindle is officially Marble-Boy's new girlfriend!" We all giggle, and Marina ties my braid at the bottom. I decide to keep the braid in for her sake, even though I hate braids. They remind me too much of Glimmer and Fire Girl. Speaking of Fire Girl, I glance in her direction. Her and Lover Boy are deep in conversation.

I force myself to stay cool and enjoy this moment with Marina and Marvel instead of getting in a bad mood by thinking about Glimmer and Katniss. Who knows, I might not be this happy until I'm out of the Games!

"Do you think we could be friends if we all lived in the same district, and never were in the Hunger Games in the first place?" Marina speaks what was on my mind a few moments ago.

Marvel says, "Sure," just as I say, "No."

They both glance at me like I'm crazy.

"What?" I ask. "I'm the vicious knife-throwing freak, and Marvel, you're the jokester guy who most likely doesn't pay attention in classes, and Marina, you're…" I trail off.

"The goody-goody who ties knots for a living," She finishes for me.

"Yeah, that. My point is why would any of us hang out with the others? We're so different, that we only have one thing in common—we've all been thrown in the Games together."

"You have a point," Marvel says thoughtfully. "I never wanted to be in the Games in the first place, you know. But you're giving me second thoughts, Marvel-Girl. If I wasn't here, I wouldn't have met you or my girlfriend, here!" He flings his arm around Marina's shoulders and grins.

"Wish I had a camera," I joke.

"Who is your girlfriend?" Cato says, making me jump in my seat and turn around to face him.

"Maybe if you weren't making out with Glimmer over there you would have heard," Marvel observes with a bitter tone. I'm pretty sure I'm right when I think that he has feelings for Glimmer, even if they are slight.

Cato turns bright red. "You mean… you mean you and Clove…" He doesn't finish.

Marina crosses her arms, glaring in Cato's direction. I think she senses that Marvel and I have secret feelings for our District partners, and she disapproves of the Glimmer-and-Cato thing. For that, I am grateful. "Are you deaf? I'm sure half the people in the dining area heard our conversation."

"Exactly, Cato," I say.

"So you and Marvel are dating," he states, turning away.

"Oh, Cato, what's so bad about that?" Glimmer says.

"Yes, Cato, what's so bad about that?" I mock. "Especially since it was all a joke."

"So why do you look so truthful?" He scowls at me.

"Because it was a joke!"

"I don't believe you."

"And I assume you won't believe me if I say that you've marked the wrong girl as my fake girlfriend," Marvel says calmly.

"I don't," Cato hisses, and he and Glimmer choose to sit at the empty lunch table as far from us as possible.

"Well, that's that," I say, sighing.

"Maybe the girlfriend conversation wasn't such a good idea," Marina says nervously, picking an orange out of the centerpiece on our table.

"Are you kidding me? It was the best thing that happened to me since I decided to tell Thresh I'm gay!" Marvel smiles.

"That was fifteen minutes ago," I remind him.

"Exactly, Marvel-Girl." He fixes me with a piercing stare until I turn away.

Sometimes I wonder if Marvel sees life as one big joke, waiting to be told. And although he may annoy me slightly, this boy is strangely comforting.

**Well, Cato is being an overly protective jerk, but that just adds on to the plot! All the while, Marina, Marvel, and Clove become even closer because of Glato. Don't worry though, if you are a Clato lover, that's coming soon!**

**Thanks for the reviews and PMs, everyone! It's nice to know that people like my writing. If something needs to be fixed, though, PLEASE TELL ME! Being critiqued only adds to my delight! **

**Happy reading! -Ibbonray**


	14. They Define Me

I storm into the empty elevator, pushing the button to close the doors over and over because this time, I want to be alone. But it's no use. Just as the glass doors are an inch away from each other, Thresh from 11 pulls them apart with no effort, allowing weak little Rue to pass into the rectangle box and then entering himself.

Right behind him comes Glimmer, which makes me scowl even more. "Get out of here," I glare at her, pushing the close button again.

"Why should I do that?" Glimmer smiles sweetly. "I have as much right to stand in here as you do." She reaches over to press the button to floor one, but I lash out and grab her wrist, choosing the one labeled 'Eleven' instead.

I glance at Thresh and Rue, and then turn back to Glimmer. "You and I need to have a little talk," I say. "And I don't want _them_ interfering when you start screaming in terror." I squeeze her wrist as tightly as I can.

Glimmer just smiles pleasantly and tries to remove my hand, cutting my fingers with her long sharp nails. I don't even blink. This is the sort of pain I can deal with.

Meanwhile, Rue stares at me curiously. "Be glad you aren't her," I snarl at the girl, who looks about ten.

Rue smiles knowingly, and I am taken aback. "I'd never be her," she replies evenly in a high-pitched, childlike voice. "I've seen the way you look at your partner, and understand your anger with Glimmer. I, personally, would never flirt with Cato, with a temper like that."

How…? Do my feelings really shine through that much? "You don't understand me, and you're right, you would _never_ be Cato's type," I growl, while Glimmer protests, "I do not flirt with Cato!"

I let go of Glimmer's wrist, happy to see a bruise forming there.

After lunch, Glimmer had been teaching Cato how to use the bow and arrow, and I had gone back to the knives, not knowing what else to do and trying to push back all of these knew emotions I was experiencing. Careers aren't supposed to feel anything but rage. Careers are supposed to be strong. Careers are not supposed to have so many emotions that they can't sort them out.

I was contemplating if I should blindfold myself and 'accidentally' hit Glimmer in the back when Cato walked up behind me.

"Whatever I've done, Clove, I'm sorry," he said, and I was so shocked I dropped my makeshift blindfold.

"You should know what you've done," I dripped venom from my words.

"Well, I don't," he said, playing dumb.

I turned away and threw my knife, beheading two dummies in one shot.

"I suck at bow and arrow," he continued. "And you're the best teacher for throwing knives."

"So that's what you want. You want to learn how to throw as well as I can, so you can stab me in the back in the Games. Well, too bad, you're not getting any lessons!" I spun on my heel as he grabbed my shoulder.

"Stop it, stop thinking that way. I haven't done anything to you and you know it, Clove!"

I stared in silence at him.

"So will you teach me, or not?"

I stared in silence at him.

"Quit the staring."

I stared in silence at him. "Throw a knife," I said with no emotion.

Cato obliged, and missed the target by about five feet. Then he stared at me expectantly.

Laughing, I walked away, calling over my shoulder; "I'm not going to help you if you're deliberately going to fail. You can do so much better than that, Cato. Go on, you can figure it out on your own." I got in line behind the girl from Six and Katniss, watching as he threw another knife in anger. This time, it hit the circular target on the edge.

Cato marched over to me and said, "What was the problem with that one?"

"Your hand-eye coordination was off, your arm wasn't centered, and you had the wrong stance, your elbow tilted far too much to the right. Maybe if you calculated the arc of the knife better in your head, it would hit nearer to the bulls-eye," I rattled off.

He narrowed his eyes at me and rushed away in a huff.

No sooner had he got to the knife-throwing station then he started shouting. "Who stole my knife? Somebody stole my knife!" I observed him as he scanned the room, looking for a worthy opponent, and his eyes landed on the nearest person; the boy from Six.

"You stole my knife!" He raged, and I smirked. Couldn't Cato just grab another knife?

"No, no I didn't," said the boy.

"Yes you did. Give me the damn knife back, now."

"I said I don't have it!"

"You'll be the first one dead in the arena, then, I swear! Watch your back, Six!" Cato violently shoved him as a couple Peacekeepers rushed in to break up the fight.

The whole time I watched, not moving, crossing my arms. I wasn't about to come rushing to his aid. And even if I wasn't angry with him, I reasoned, it was Cato's fight, anyway.

So now, when I see Rue pull a long, heavy knife out of her pocket, I freeze.

"You…?" I ask.

"Yes, me. Your partner really _does_ have a temper." She smiles and hands the knife to me, which I grab quickly and stow it away in my braid. I won't tell Cato about this. It would embarrass him to be tricked by a little twelve-year-old girl.

Glimmer narrows her eyes at Rue. "You stole his knife? You mean, _you're_ the one who got Cato suspended from the Training Center for the day?" She lunges at Rue, but knocks into Thresh, who stepped between them.

"You don't hurt the little girl," he says, in a monotonous voice, just as the elevator dings, indicating that we have reached the eleventh floor. They leave, and I push the button for Two, and then One.

Glimmer rubs her temple from where she crashed into Thresh, then smirks at me. "So you're jealous of me?" She asks.

"God, no!" I yell at her and pin her to the glass wall. "But you get away from Cato or I will kill you in the arena!"

"You wouldn't," she pouts. "Just because Cato likes me better doesn't mean you can do that."

"I could make it look like a tragic accident," I whisper in her ear, pulling the knife from my hair and tracing her lips with it, not quite cutting her skin, then slide it lightly across her throat, just barely puncturing it. In return, she claws my cheek with her sharp nails.

"My Cay-Cay won't ever love you," She says, a wild look in her eyes.

"My best friend won't be able to stand your hideousness once I'm through with you," I say, laughing, just as the bell dings again, the doors opening to… Cato. Just my luck.

He stares at me, knife to Glimmer's throat, and Glimmer, whose nails are covered with my blood, and then he totally loses it. "Clove! What are you doing?" He pulls me off Glimmer, dragging me down the hallway.

"See you soon, Glim," I call to her.

"Yeah, catch you later, Clo." I can hear the smirk in her voice as the elevator doors close.

_"What_ the _hell?_" Shouts Cato. "First you act like you hate me, then you're going to kill Glimmer… what is your problem?"

I put my hands on my hips. "I was just playing with her a little. Stay out of this, Cato."

"Knife to her throat? That's not playing with her, that's… that's…"

"I am not going to kill her until our alliance breaks apart in the arena."

"You better not," Cato growls. "Come on, it's dinner time."

I stand my ground. "I would like to eat by myself, thank you."

"You've missed out on two dinners already, Clove! Come on."

"No." Doesn't he understand that I want to be alone? Doesn't he understand that by making out with Glimmer, he's hurt me so much that I can barely face him, and won't be able to stand Amber? I've seen enough people for the day.

But Cato reaches out and picks me up, slinging me over his shoulder, taking me to the dining room.

"Stop!" I shout at him, punching him in the back, but he doesn't let me go. He hasn't carried me like this since… well, since a couple years ago.

_Cato had recently broken up with Aysche, which wasn't surprising, considering Aysche was the most gossipy, mean-hearted girl enrolled in the Training Center. I knew it would never work out._

_But I also knew that Aysche was one of those girls who talked dirty about boys who recently broke up with them, so I wasn't surprised when she did._

"_You know that boy? Cato?" She was talking to a large group of girls her own age. "Well, he like, broke up with me yesterday, and he's a complete jerk! If you asked him to cut the arm off a dummy, he couldn't even manage. I saw it with my very own eyes. He's just a wimp who shows off the skills he doesn't even have! You know Cato's 'friend'? The vicious little freak, Clove?"_

_They all nodded, and I sunk down lower into my hiding place, which was behind a couple dummies._

"_Well, she's not his friend at all. Actually, I caught them making out at her house yesterday. Cato is a womanizer, and Clove is so simple-minded that she doesn't even realize it!"_

_At this I had jumped up, ran to Aysche, and punched every bit of flesh I could reach. Then I took out my knife, and cut her arms and hands and back, wanting her to have a slow, agonizing death. How _dare_ she talk about Cato and I like that behind our backs? How _dare_ she!_

_About a minute later, I felt somebody lift me up off my prey, and I punched and kicked the person who picked me up, too, until I saw it was Cato. I stared into his eyes, his piercing bright blue eyes, as he slung me over his shoulder and took me all the way home._

_A couple days later, Aysche had an 'accident', that I may or may not have taken part in._

_And it might be insanely horrible of me, but I'm glad her funeral was practically empty._

This memory makes me fall silent, as he deposits me into my seat at the dinner table.

Evilian, Ben, and Amber, who are already eating, stare from me to Cato to me again.

"What?" I snap. "I didn't want to come to dinner, and he made me."

Cato shrugs his shoulders.

"Well, I'm glad you decided to join us, little girl," says Evilian sarcastically. "Though it looks like you had an… accident."

"Hmm," I mutter, grabbing a roll.

"She got in a fight," Cato explains.

"And there were no Peacekeepers to break it up?" Amber shouts. "We cannot have our female tribute's face covered in scratches for her interview!"

"What are the scratches from?" Says Ben. I'm surprised it's in a normal tone of voice.

"Glimmer's fingernails," I say. "Pass the butter."

"Save the fighting for the arena, little girl," says Evilian, passing me the butter.

"Oh I _am."_

"Lovely," Amber squeals. "Now, what are you two doing for your private sessions tomorrow?"

I say, "Knives," while Cato mutters, "Swords."

"I hope you've listened to my advice about no survival stations these past few days," Evilian glares.

"Yes, ma'am," Cato jokes.

"_Don't_ call me ma'am," she hisses.

We eat in silence for a bit, until Amber can't stand it any more. "Why were you fighting with the tribute from One, LC? You must have a good explanation," she pipes.

"Oh, yes," I tell Amber, imitating her sickly sweet Capitol accent. "There is an explanation. And he's sitting right in front of you."

I let them figure that out before I say, "I've lost my appetite. Night." Then I run off toward my room.

"But we haven't talked battle strategy!" Evilian calls.

"We can talk battle strategy tomorrow!"

I kick my shoes off and fall into bed, not bothering to change out of my clothes. I touch the chain around my neck, and feel for the stone bottle Cinder gave me, uncorking it.

Cloves. They aren't like me at all. But, strangely, they define me in a way that goes deeper than anything. When I was small, my grandfather would put bowls of cloves around the house on the Election Day. He told me, "Cloves are small, but their smell is so powerful and distinct that they remind me of you. You will do great things someday, Little Clovie, I can feel it."

Is the Hunger Games the great thing I will achieve? Somehow, I don't feel like it is. Then it must be something else.

With that, I drift off to sleep.

**Okay, this was a strange mix of events, but I wanted to get the whole day over with quickly.**

**A fight! Actually, three fights, if you count Cato vs. District 6, Glimmer vs. Clove and Clove vs. Aysche (that is pronounced Ay-sha), and no Clato yet, SAD FACE (I just doesn't make sense yet.)**

**The first part of this may be confusing, because Clove's in the elevator, then she recalls what happened earlier in the day, then she's BACK in the elevator. Please bear with me, I'm not feeling that great. :/**

**Thank you to my new reviewers and new followers: jedikhaleesi, bl3u3y3z, and JosephHughesie! **

**Thank you to everyone else who has favorited, followed, and reviewed **_**The Gouge in the Table!**_

**I apologize, this chapter wasn't the greatest, and there was no Clato and nothing about Marvel! I'm thinking of possibly having Cato apologize and Clove believe him, and then have Cato say something about Clove to Glimmer (even if he doesn't mean it) that makes her hate him again. It's an idea!**

**Well, I think that's all I have to say, really. Thanks again for the reviews, PMs, ideas, and for being AMAZING READERS, EVERY ONE OF YOU!**

**Happy reading! -Ibbonray**


	15. Puzzle Pieces

**This is sort of short, but it has a LOT of Clato, for those romance fans…**

**The next chapter will be more Glato, though, and then after that is the private sessions.**

**Enjoy!**

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Somebody is knocking on my door. I roll over and cover my ears with my bedspread.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

"Open up, Clove!" Says Cato.

"No," I groan.

"Please?"

"I won't unless you apologize for waking me up!" I glance at my clock. I've only been sleeping an hour.

"Fine, sorry. Unlock the door!"

I grumble and roll out of bed, instinctively tying my hair in a ponytail. "It didn't sound like you meant the apology," I tell him.

"I won't unless you open the damn door!"

I roll my eyes. "Okay, okay, you win." I unlock the latch and he barrels through the doorway and scoops me up in a really, really big bear hug.

"Let me go, Cato," I growl, my feet dangling a foot from the ground. This is the downside about being petite—you can't hug properly, and can't get out of a hug if Cato is involved.

"Never, Little Clovie," he laughs and I struggle to pull away, glaring at him. "Come on, I get it, you hate me, because Glimmer flirts with me and I have no choice but to flirt back!"

"Who says you have no choice?" I say.

"If I don't flirt with her, there will be no point in the alliance."

"Yes, there will. While you've been making out with Glimmer, I've been talking with Marvel and Marina. I definitely want to ally with them, and they want to ally with me."

Cato narrows his eyes. "The only reason Marvel wants to ally with you is because you're pretty, and he would give anything to date you. And apparently, you _are_ going out with each other."

I smack his arm, making him let me go from the hug. "And apparently, you were so full of rage that you didn't notice when we both denied it. It was just one big conversation where he joked that Marina was his girlfriend because she was the one who tackled me and braided my hair first!" I lose it and dive under the covers of my bed.

Cato sits in silence, and then says, "Oh."

"Oh? Oh? Stop being so quick to judge, Cato."

"Same to you, Clovie. I'm sorry." This time, he really means it; I can hear it in his voice. I relax and fling the covers off myself, to find him looming above me.

In a second, all my anger, my worries, and every conflicting emotion fly out the window as he stands there, like my protector, like… like my guardian angel, almost. I can't help but think that so much has changed since when we first met each other. Back then we were just friends, but now it's so much more than that. It feels like I'm not whole without him, and now the puzzle piece that was removed has just been clicked back into place.

Cato sits down next to me and puts my head in his lap, and I close my eyes as he takes the hair band out of my hair and strokes the dark locks. A small sigh escapes my lips and my eyes fly open to see his smile—a smile?

I thought Cato was only capable of smirking, but I'm proved wrong tonight. He is smiling—for me. His blue eyes are shining, like lapis lazuli. I'm drowning… drowning…

Then I fall asleep, in the same position, and I dream about his lips on mine. It seems so real, but it's probably just a dream. Cato wouldn't take it that far, since we'll be competing against each other in the arena.

Or would he?

When I wake up, there is something lying across my chest. It's heavy and warm and… oh.

I'm in a very uncomfortable position, my head on Cato's lap and his read resting on my chest. I attempt to wiggle out from under him, but it's no use… I guess I'll just have to wake him up.

"Cato," I whisper. "Cato."

He does not move.

"Cato! Wake up!" I say in my normal tone of voice.

He moves his head a bit, but otherwise, he's still asleep.

It's no use. I raise my arm and punch him in the back.

"Ow!" He says, jumping right up and I am dumped onto the ground.

"You wouldn't wake up," I say, rubbing my elbow, which hit the bedside table.

"You didn't have to punch me in the back," Cato says.

"Evilian's right, you need to toughen up or else you'll die from a mere bruise in the arena," I laugh.

"Hey, a bruise could kill you. Say it's on your foot, and you're running from an opponent, and…"

"Shut it, Cato." I stand up and sit back down on the bed next to him.

"I'm not. I know you secretly love the sound of my voice," he teases.

"In your dreams." On impulse, I reach over and touch his cheek, just as the door to my room opens.

"LC! LC! It's time to get up! Private sessions today! You—ohhhhhhhhhh," Amber says in a rush. "I won't interrupt _this._"

"What is _this_?" I ask her, flushing and retracting my hand as fast as possible.

"Well, it's totally obvious you're in _love,_ isn't it? Oh, I just have to tell my friends! You'll be talk of the Capitol!"

Cato looks at me, and shrugs. But no, I won't let Amber say anything to anyone—because if the truth comes out that I am experiencing these… _feelings…_ for Cato, we'll lose many sponsors because we will be considered weak! Weak!

"NO!" I bark, and pounce on Amber, covering her golden lips with my palm to prove my point. "We'll look weak, Amber. Careers aren't supposed to feel. Don't say a _word."_

Her brown eyes widen in frights as she nods her head about ten times.

I let her go and enter the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower," I announce, then address Amber. "Promise."

"I promise, I won't say anything!" She squeaks, and runs out of the room as fast as her honey-colored heels can carry her. I turn to Cato.

"You sure about this?" He asks, running his fingers through his hair.

"Do you want to look like a wimp?" I say.

He bites his lip and stays silent.

"Look, I'm sorry, but it's all just a television show. And Cato, we can't be doing this to each other, when one of us is going to die!"

"You mean _I'm_ the one who's going to die. You're going to win, Clove," he says stubbornly.

I turn away. This is too much. "And if we're the last two left?"

"I'd do anything for you, Clovie, even if it's killing myself."

This drops the bomb. I spin around and shove him onto the bed. "You won't do that," I hiss. "I couldn't stand knowing it's my fault."

Again, he says nothing, and I return into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

When I enter the shower, I push random buttons. No water comes out of the faucet… instead, it's a steady stream of heated lavender extract. I am angry with Cato, and the oily liquid feels so good against my bare skin that I'm so tired… so tired…

Of course, I'm asleep in an instant.

**Fun fact: Lavender extract makes you sleepy!**

**So, like it so far? To all those who review—I can't thank you enough! Hope this chapter satisfies you!**

**IF ANYBODY HAS A FLASHBACK IDEA PLEEEEEEEEEEEEASE SEND ME ONE I LOVE THAT TYPE OF THING AND IF THE IDEA IS GOOD I WILL DEFINITELY SUBMIT IT!**

**Happy reading!**

**-Ibbonray**


	16. Tell Me I'm Not a Kid

"What are you _doing,_ Clove?" Somebody pounds on my door and I open my eyes again, drowsy and disoriented. There's warm liquid cascading down my back and then I realize… I'm in the shower?

It all comes flooding back. Lavender oil, Cato being overly protective, and now I'm falling asleep in the shower while standing upright!

"You are going to be late to training if you do not get out of the shower _right now!_" Evilian's voice comes through the locked bathroom door.

"Sorry, sorry, I fell asleep!" I rush, trying to turn on the water to rinse the oil off me. But the water mixes with the oil and it makes a weird combination.

"_Fell asleep, Clove?_ Get out of that shower right now or I shall be forced to break this door down! I don't care if you have clothes on or not!"

"Okay, okay_," _I mutter, and turn the water off, and then step out of the shower where I am instantly dried off. "Can you leave my room so I can dress, please?"

"Ivor left you clothes on your bed," she says in a monotone, and I can hear her leave my room in a prompt march.

I rush to my bed and find a black t-shirt with grey athletic pants, and white boots. The white boots sort of throw me off, but then I realize… of course. Ivor has deathly pale skin and obviously wanted to put a little of himself into his choice of clothing. Almost like his signature. Almost.

I'm sort of surprised that he hasn't chosen an outfit for me on the other training days, but I suppose we _do_ have our private sessions today.

Crap. Private sessions. Wasn't I supposed to plan them out?

Maybe that's what the first part of the morning is for… but how am I to know.

I tie my hair back and glance at the clock. Damn! I have to be there in five minutes. No wonder Evilian was angry.

Running down the halls, I pass the dining room, where Amber, Ben, and Evilian sit. "Late much?" Evilian smirks, and I glare at her, grabbing a strip of bacon and heading for the elevator.

When I enter the Training Room, most of the tributes are already there, and my allies look at me, bemused.

"Marvel-Girl is late, for once. Don't let it become a habit!" Marvel shakes his finger at me.

"Don't blame me. I… I fell asleep…" Suddenly, I'm embarrassed. I doubt any tribute has ever slumbered in the shower before. But of course, when under pressure, people proceed to do the unthinkable.

"What she means to say is that she fell asleep in the shower," Cato smirks.

"Yes, the amount of lavender oil that must have been sprayed on you is horrific," Glimmer wrinkles her nose. "Plus, looks like you didn't even bother to treat those scratches."

Oh, yes. I forgot, of course. Just like me to forget about Glimmer's little clawing act.

Smelling the scent of strong perfume coming off her and spying the faint trace of a scar on her neck, I laugh. "You're one to talk."

"Yes, Glimmer, it seems as if both you and Clove run perfume factories," Marina smiles. I laugh along with her because, I'll admit, I _do_ smell a lot like a certain herb—but not the one I was named for.

However, Glimmer doesn't take it as a complement and crosses her arms, leaning on Cato.

I glance at Cato's reaction and am satisfied when he gives me an annoyed look.

Marvel stares at me. "Looks like you two are on… better terms," he comments.

"If 'better terms' for you is making out all night long, then you're sorely misguided, Marble-Boy," I snap back at him, but still with a hint of a smile on my face so he knows I'm not at all angry with him for any reason.

"Of course Cato wouldn't do that, would you, Cay-Cay?" Glimmer says, trailing her hand up his arm, which makes my stomach flutter in fury.

"I'm all yours, Glim," he says, but I can detect the lie in his voice, which makes me feel a bit better.

Atala claps her hands to get our attention. "Okay, tributes, this is your last day of training. For the first half of the day, you will proceed to do what you have been doing this past two days. But, after lunch, you will all be lined up in a side room and one by one, and then each of you will enter the Training Center for your private session with the Gamemakers.

"Once again, there is no fighting permitted in the Training Center—" (she looks directly at Cato as she says this) "—and those who do will miss out on their private session and, therefore, get a zero. Now, you are free to roam wherever you please in the confinements of this room."

She dismisses us and tributes wander over to their chosen stations, and I ask, "So, do we stay in a group today, or what?"

"Group," Marvel agrees.

"We don't want to be in a group, do we, Cay-Cay?" Glimmer whines, stroking his hair.

I walk up to her, grab her wrist, and give her an Indian burn… the most pain I can give her without the Peacekeepers rushing into the picture.

"Ouch!" She pulls away from me. "Fine, fine, I'll be in the group."

"Great," I smirk.

"So, where to first?" Asks Marina.

"We need to talk strategy," Cato suggests. "So why not… don't contradict me… camouflage?"

For a second, there is complete silence, until Marvel breaks it.

"Sounds good. Even though Cashmere and Gloss told us no survival stations, what's the problem with breaking just a coupla rules?"

I agree with Marvel, and we head over to the station, where the trainer is extremely surprised to see us.

Choosing a few paints, I ask Cato, "So what _is_ our plan?"

"Well…" Cato hesitates.

"We kill until there are only a few tributes left, then we break up the alliance," Marina says. "Simple as that."

"I call killing Thresh!" Marvel laughs. I laugh too, because I know exactly what Marvel has in mind.

"I call…" I say, but Cato interrupts. "I've got Fire Girl."

Scowling, I clench my teeth together. _I _wanted Fire Girl. I thought Cato was going to be the one to get Lover Boy, but obviously, he was lying when he comforted me by speaking of my ruthless torturing of Katniss Everdeen.

"Give me a piece of the action," I say.

"Don't worry, Clovie, you can have as much fun with her as you want, but I get to kill her in my own way."

"Oh, Cato, you'd be so much more effective than Clove!" Glimmer says, while flashing Cato a dazzling albeit sickening smile.

The entire alliance turns and glares at Glimmer. I've got to say, it's great to have friends like Marvel and Marina (and Cato, of course). Glimmer pouts her lip and says, "Okay, okay!"

I narrow my eyebrows at her, and then glance around the station, choosing a patch of light blue wildflowers. Then I start to paint my arm. The paint feels cool against my skin and I am drawn back to the time when I used to love to draw.

That was so long ago. I don't remember why I quit, but I regret it now.

I glance at my arm. Not half bad! I add a couple shadows and highlights and then stick my forearm into the flowers. If my life depended on it, I could probably go unnoticed.

"Why didn't you tell me you could paint?" Says Marvel, and I whip around.

"Oh. It's you."

"Of course it's me, Marvel-Girl. You did a nice job," he says, glancing at my arm.

"Nice enough that I could go unnoticed in the arena," I admit.

"I hope you don't use your talent to hide from me!" Marvel says, pretending to be offended. "But I didn't come over here to see what you were doing, I want you to eavesdrop on the Glato kiddies," he tells me, now with a serious tone.

I glance to the other side of the station, where Cato and Glimmer are, once again, kissing… ugh! But I know that Cato doesn't love it, like Glimmer might, (thank God!) I automatically feel bad for Marvel, though, because I know that he… well, you know… has some uncontrollable emotions, like me.

"Sure," I say, eyes downcast, and I look down at his leg, which is also covered in paint, like my arm. It is a picture of pebbles, each detailed in every way possible. "Wow, Marbles, you are talented!"

"What?" he looks at me confused and then looks down at his leg, and blushes. "Oh, no, I didn't paint that, Marina did."

"Somebody say my name?" Marina walks up to us.

"Yep," I say. "Gotta love the pebbles."

"Marvel's leg? Come on. That's just a sketch. I'm not finished yet." She drags Marvel away, muttering something about variation and gradient. I wonder if they have art classes back in Four.

I sneak up behind a fake tree, which is located next to Glimmer and Cato. I don't want to watch, so I turn away but keep my ears open.

After a little… noise… (Don't you all hate the sound of two teenagers making out?!) I hear Glimmer mumble something to Cato, and I lean into the tree, trying to catch what she's saying

"What's with you and Clove?"

"Come on, Glim, you know I don't love her," he says in a seductive tone. "Clove's a kid—and is ignorant as hell.''

I dig my fingernails into my fists as I take this all in, but don't make a sound. Ignorant? A kid? He should know by now that I am no kid! _Damn you._

"But she's on better terms with you…" Glimmer's voice is cut off by another smooch.

"She's simple to break. Lie to Clove and she eats up every word. I'd never lie to you, Glim… you're much too sexy," Cato says, and I've had enough. _Damn you, Cato. _I sprint away from the tree, begging God that they haven't seen me, and run smack into Marvel.

"What'd they say about you, Marvel-Girl?" He whispers in my ear.

I bite my lip to keep from screaming, and say with the same intensity, "He said I was a kid. I am not a kid. Tell me I'm not a kid, Marvel."

He hugs me and tells me, "You're not a kid, Clove."

_Damn you, Cato. Damn you to hell. Because you should know I'm not a kid._

**Horrible? Amazing? Agonizingly unClatoish? Review guys!**

**If you don't know, an Indian burn is when you twist somebody's arm and his or her skin goes really red and I promise you, it hurts!**

**So Clove has suffered her first heartbreak. :( This a good reaction? **

**Thanks to my new follower, SilverOdair, and my new favoriter/follower, Percyjacksonfangirl11! Plus TheGirlThatShipsClato, Em74 and 3PeetaAndKatniss3, who have reviewed more than 3 times each! Thank you thank you THANK YOU!**

**-Ibbonray**

**P.S.: **

**Dear Clato romance lovers,**

**I know you guys are letting loose a lot of evil thoughts right now (I know, I am too!) about Glimmer and Cato and ME, THE AUTHOR WHO HAS FOR SOME REASON TURNED CLOVE AGAINST CATO!—But it's all for the best. They will solve their issues after the interviews! **** So just WAAAAIIIIITTTTT and I'll try to get typing! **

**Just know I'm super busy!**

**From, Ibbonray.**


	17. Heartbreak

So this is heartbreak?

Cato and I don't officially love each other, but this hurts so much I can't bear it. _I'm not a kid! Damn you!_

I step from Marvel's embrace and walk over to the buckets of paint. The trainer backs away from me as I pick up the red paint pot and dump it over my arm.

The thick paint reminds me of blood, blood coating my hands and blood coating my arm and covering the blue flowers that were once good but now they're too pretty to handle.

I don't feel pretty anymore. That monster of a boy was right—I eat up every word he says like my life depends on it. My life doesn't depend on anything.

Sinking to my knees, I trace the words _Cato and Clove_ onto my arm, and then slash through them with more red paint. I'm killing us. I'm killing _us._ The _us_ will never work out. _We_ are in the games together. Only _one_ of us can live. But Cato has ruined some of my last chances of being happy.

Memories flash through my mind. _Cato and Clove. Cato and Clove together. Cato and Clove doing this, doing that. Cato and Clove Cato and Clove Cato and Clove Cato and—_"Stop it!" I yell, attracting all sorts of attention, but I don't care. This is too much.

"What's the matter with Clove?" Says a voice. _His_ voice. _Him._ He's the one who has made my heart ache like this. Too much to handle. Too much! Too much! I hyperventilate and curl up in a ball. _Damn you, Cato. I am not ignorant. I am not a little kid. But you're right—I am simple to break. I eat up every word. I think lies are the truth and the truth is a lie. Have Glimmer. But damn you… Fuck you!_

"So she finally went insane?" That's Glimmer. She sounds gleeful. And yes, she should be. My insanity is _her _fault too, but it's mostly _his _fault.

_Cato! How could you do this to me? We're best friends, remember? When did this change? It's the Games, isn't it? And the fact that I love you—it is childish. Childish! Stick to the knives, Clove! Stick to being a Career! Stick to being vicious, brutal! My heart isn't broken, no it's not, though it feels like it's in my stomach… stop it! All of this! STOP IT!_

"Shut up, Glimmer, Cato. She needs to go to the nurse," says somebody… Marvel. Marble-Boy. He cares about me. He wants me safe. He needs the nurse, too. Doesn't he?

_Why isn't he falling apart like I am? They probably said horrible things about him, too. But maybe he knows that he's not a child, a kid. A kid. I am not a kid. No, I am NOT! NO! NOOOOOO!_

I finally can arrange my facial expression into one that shows no emotion, and then I rise, and pull my hair back into its ponytail, which it somehow fell out of. My hair, it is sticky. I look at my hands. They are covered in blood. _No, it's paint. Not blood. You haven't killed yet, Clove._

They are all staring at me, the Careers, the camouflage trainer, a couple tributes—but the Gamemakers haven't seen me yet. Good. I have to be tough. I am a Career.

Marvel and Marina look at me with concern. Hopefully Marvel explained this to her. Cato and Glimmer just look confused.

Heartbreak. This feeling—it is new, and it is awful. But I can be strong. Clove Saber is strong.

"My floor. I need to get to my floor," I say, in a voice that is not mine. "I need to be alone."

I turn on my heel and proceed to the elevator.

"Wait, Marvel-Girl! I don't know if you can leave yet!" Marvel grabs my shirt and pulls. This means I have to face him.

"Please," I beg Marvel. "I don't know how you deal with this but I have to go. I'll be back for the private sessions. Please explain to Atala, anybody—"

He nods and lets me go. "It's worse for you because you were fed the lies. Don't worry, Clove, it will wear off."

_It won't wear off. It won't. It will stay fresh in my mind, forever and ever, and it will make me weak. So weak I can't fight. So weak that I die, and the liar, the monster can live—my old friend can live. It's all for the best._ I turn and walk into the elevator, getting more curious stares. I scowl at everyone and they quickly look the other way.

_Don't show that you're broken._ Broken like a vase shattered on the ground. I punch the number 2. The elevator seems broken until I hear a faint ding, and realize that I just didn't feel it go up. Is this another side effect? Feeling numb?

Running down the green carpet to my room, I think to myself, dwell on him. _Friends forever. Forever and ever. We made a pact—a blood pact. _

I rush to my bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. My dark hair has so much paint in it that it makes me feel woozy.

_Blood from the pact that we made. Almost like blood. And now it's in my hair—my hair! Oh, God, my hair! But no, it's only paint._

Swaying back and forth, I clutch the table.

_Knife girl. Must be strong, must be strong, must be the knife girl from District 2. But the monster—he's from my district also. We were friends. But now I'm a kid. A kid! Ignorant. Ignorant that he's a liar that lied to my face without blinking. We are taught to detect lies, but we are also taught to tell them. Not to each other. But he did. He did!_

_What is love? Love is nothing more than a rogue emotion. I don't love him. How can I love him? But I do. Shiny, ice blue eyes. Short, somewhat tousled blonde hair. What's not to love? His personality. Damn you, damn you, damn you Cato! Go to hell. Go to hell, hell, HELL!_

My vision goes black and I'm falling, falling.

_To love and to hate. To love and to hate. It is not Cato and Clove anymore. It is only Clove. Clove. Clove. No more Cato and Clove. Cato and Clove. Gone. Vanished. Disappeared. Broken. Broken like a vase, a shiny blue one just like Cato's eyes. A vase that lies to me._

_A flash of yellow. Yellow like the sun. But there's not much sun in District 2. District 2. Where you make friends and they stab you in the back._

_But not with a knife. No, knives are for children. Knives are for little girls like me, like Clove Saber. The monsters out there use real weapons; gladiator weapons. Such as swords. Cato has stabbed me in the back with a sword._

_So why is it that it's my heart that hurts so much?_

** AN: You know that quote from the Hunger Games, **_**"District 12, where you can starve to death in safety"?**_** I kind of played off of that, quoting, "**_**District 2, where you make friends and they stab you in the back."**_** I don't want to be a copier, but it sorta fits!**

** Anyway, I know this is a kind of short chapter BUT it is superduperamazinglyIMPORTANT ! It deals with HEARTBREAK EMOTIONS! :d**

** Sure, sure, Clato-ers are probably mentally stabbing me. Don't worry, though! Glato will soon come to a stop! (Okay, not super duper soon, we gotta wait til she dies.)**

** Hope you liked this chapter, as in written-wise!**

** -Ibbonray**


	18. Private Sessions

LC. LC. LC, LC, LC. Little Clovie. LITTLE CLOVIE!" Somebody is smacking my cheek, and hard. But it doesn't hurt; the pain feels numb like I've been slapped for a couple minutes.

"Wake up already. Your private session starts soon!" Amber's face suddenly floats above mine, and I am so startled, I jump back. But I don't jump back—I am on a bed, in a room that is not mine. No, it is mine—it is my Capitol bed. But next year it will be another tribute's.

"LC? You're awake!" She claps her hands and busies herself with making me sit up. "I found you in your room. You passed out. Thank goodness you didn't hit your head on the countertop! Why were you in your room and not the training center?"

"I—" I say.

"No matter, the boy from District One, what's his name? Anyway, he told Atala something, and she let you go until private sessions. Oh, oh, private sessions!" Amber chatters on about the importance of looking completely vicious in front of the Gamemakers and I tune out. Cato. Cato—he said I was a kid. He lied to my face!

But I've been trained to forget, so I forget it now. Can't let my emotions overcome me. Normally I am terrible at this, but at the moment I cannot let my facial expressions give away my identity.

My identity. My identity is a little girl. That's what the monster said.

_I never needed him anyway! Stop thinking about it!_

"Did you pass out again, LC?" Amber looks concerned.

"Wha—No!" I choke out. "Just, just thinking."

"Good because I wanted to know if you were ready."

"For what?"

"The private sessions, of course! Marvel's starts in five minutes, which means yours is…" She stares at her watch.

"Soon!" I say, suddenly alert, and jump out of the bed.

"Take it slow!" Amber squeaks, and then realizes that I'm perfectly fine. "Let me escort you to the room where you will stay until it is your turn."

She does, and when I finally enter a room with twenty-two students (Marvel has already entered the Training Center for his private session, Amber hurries away.

I surprisingly get very few stares—most people are shuffling their feet, nervous for their sessions. All except one—the fox girl, Finch or whatever her name is.

"Stop," I command her, and try to continue on to my seat.

"You're late. Monster Boy broke up with you, didn't he?" she says, and I whirl around at her.

"What's it to you, Ginger?" I say, getting in her face.

"It is my strategy," says Finch/Foxface/Ginger. "And I know heartbreak when I see it."

I laugh and find the perfect comeback. "I'll bet that's because yours broke too."

Expecting her to flush in fury, I am surprised when she just grins, amused. "Like I would trust any man with my love. Yeah, right."

Rolling my eyes, I wonder about the meaning of this statement as I take the last few steps and sit next to Cato and Krill. I pay them no mind and put my head in my hands, just as an automatic voice says, "_Glimmer Rae."_ I watch from my curled up position as Glimmer pulls herself practically off Cato's lap and skips to the metal doorway, where a couple Peacekeepers escort her into the Training Center.

What to show the Gamemakers? What will make them remember me? I don't want them to know me as Clove Saber. I want them to know me as who I am… _the girl with the knives._

"Clove? Clovie? You all right?" Says Cato, and I automatically sit upright and stare at him.

_Ignorant. A kid._ "No," I reply. _Easy to break._ "I am not all right." Can't he see that? Or is my blank expression actually working?

Please, God, I hope it is working.

He is confused. But I don't care if he is confused. Cato knows what he said but he didn't know I was eavesdropping. He should _expect_ me to eavesdrop. Cato used to be my best friend, you know!

"What happened to you?"

I put my head back in my hands and promptly ignore him.

"Stop acting like a little girl who suffered her first heartbreak," he says, crossing his arms.

Although I am trying to ignore him, this is just too ironic. One; I am a little girl, according to _him._ Two; I have suffered my first heartbreak already, Cato! It's so funny I start giggling, then laughing, and then finally I hold my sides in silent laughter.

Looking up, I catch sight of Cato's amused face, and then I instantly sober.

"For all you know, maybe I _am_ a little girl who has suffered her first heartbreak," I say venomously, and then tune him out.

Cato must think I am bipolar.

Soon they call Cato's name, and he stands up. "Wish me luck?" He says to me.

"Never," I growl, then turn to Marina, who sits two seats from me and has been pursing her lips and sitting quietly and thoughtfully this whole time, hands clasped together. "Would you wish him luck, because apparently Cato needs some, and I can't bring myself to give him any myself?"

Marina smirks. "Think I will? If a Career needs luck, then they should be shunted out of the ally group. See you later, Cato."

His eyes widen in questioning, and then he turns and trots away. I reach over and give Marina a high-five.

"You better?" She asks me.

"Of course," I lie. I cannot appear to be weak in front of anyone, not even Marina.

"No, you're not. You don't have to lie, Clove."

So much for pulling that off.

_What to do what to do what to do? The Gamemakers have to love me. The targets are too easy—I need to perform an entire show._

When my name is called, I'm still not prepared.

_ "Clove Saber."_

I jump into stance, nod to Marina and say, "Ensnare a couple dummies in those nets of yours."

She nods back and replies, "Kill some targets for me, Knife Girl." We do not wish each other good luck.

Smiling, I let the Peacekeepers lead me to the Training Center, then close the metal doors behind me when I enter. Turning, I walk to the center of the room and put on my I'm-About-To-Kill-You face while staring up at the Gamemakers. They sit on the balcony, sipping drinks and munching on numerous snacks, conversing with each other. I hear little snippets of conversation here and there, _"Sword, Cato, ten."_

I spare a quick glance at the sword station. Of course—plenty of headless dummies. I might hate Cato but you've got to admit, he's good.

_Too_ good for my liking.

My attention goes back to the Gamemakers and I stare them down, unblinking, until some of them see me, and then they all fall quiet.

I clear my throat and say, "District Two, Clove Saber—or, you can call me Knife Girl, if you wish."

There is muttering about this. I'll bet my introduction is a first. I doubt many tributes introduce their chosen nickname to the Gamemakers.

"You may begin," Seneca Crane says coolly.

Nodding once, I start my thought-over routine.

"I'm sure you've watched me during training," I say clearly, walking over to the knife station and selecting a couple. "I am the first to complete level 12 at the knife station."

I continue, "Well, it is much too easy."

Spying the camouflage station, I run over and dip my finger in the black paint, then sprint across the room and place black dots in random places along the walls. The Gamemakers talk to the others excitedly, and I laugh, drawing my finger across my cheeks to create the effect that I am going into battle.

Then, I tuck the knives I have selected into numerous hiding spots in my clothes—two in the ankles of my athletic pants, two in the sleeves of my shirt, three in my belt, one in my shoe and finally, two more in my ponytail.

I rush over to the monkey bar obstacle course I completed on my first day. Time to take action. Climbing up to the first bar, I start.

On the third bar, I dangle from one hand, and free the knives from my ankles and fling them both at two different black dot targets at the other side of the room. Squinting, I see that I have hit both of them dead-on.

I do this again with the knives hidden in my arm-sleeves, and the one in my boot. When I reach the area in the middle of the course with the club that swings down, I free two knives from my belt and locate two dummies on either side of the course—one from the spear section and one from the sword section.

Timing it perfectly, I jump to the bar on the other side of the bar that the club swings down on, and in mid air, I throw both knives in opposite directions at the dummies, and then catch hold of the other bar. I let out a sigh of relief when I manage to not fall and realize that I have hit both dummies in the hearts.

For the finale, I reach the end of the course and clamber on top of the last bar. Sitting on it, balancing on it perfectly, I take the final knife in my belt and cut a two-inch wide strip of fabric from my shirt. I glance up to the Gamemakers to see their reaction, and am pleased to find they are all leaning over the balcony at the edge of their seats.

When the strip is cut, I fling the knife at another one of the black targets across the room, hearing the thump as it makes contact with the wall. But I don't even bother to look at it—I know the knife is stuck into the target perfectly. Time to pay more attention to my last challenge.

I take in my surroundings, and stand up on the bar. In District 2 we were taught that balance is the key to practically anything, and I could stand on this bar for a complete day if you told me too. Next, I focus on one spot in the middle of the room, and tie the strip of fabric across my eyes in a blindfold.

Then I reach up and pull the final knives from my hair, blindly, and hold them out. Bending my knees, I spring off the bar in another triple front flip like the one I did on the first day of training, and throw the knives in mid air. This all happens in a split second, and then I land square on my feet, smirking as the sound of metal on metal breaks the silence.

I pull off my blindfold and survey my surroundings. All the black targets I created are hit dead-on; two dummies have knives in their hearts, and in the middle of the room lay two knives that clashed together as I threw them. Precisely what I planned. And the best part is that I made it through the obstacle course without any scratches or bruises.

The Gamemakers all sit silently, mouths hanging open. It's hilarious but I keep my cool, bowing and saying, "Thank you."

"You are dismissed," says Seneca Crane, recovering first.

"That was fine throwing, young lady!" Screeches one man, with a pudgy face.

"Victor of the 74th Hunger Games!" Says another.

"She deserves that nickname! A toast to Knife Girl!"

I still manage to keep the smile off my face and give them one more cold, calculating stare, before I whirl around and leave through the doors on the other side of the Training Center. Only when I'm past all the cautious Peacekeepers and Avoxes and into the elevator do I allow a slight smile to pass my lips.

My name is Clove Saber. I am from District Two, Panem. And I _will_ be the Victor of the 74th Hunger Games.

As for Cato? Let's just say, the odds will not be in his favor.

**So! Private sessions! Do you guys like the knife/monkey bars/blindfold idea? I must say, I loved caisha702's idea for painted targets in her story **_**Love is a Battlefield**_** so much that I had to use it… I hope it is not copying if I give her the credit for the idea!**

** Although there was little to no cursing in this chapter, I forgot to say in my last chapter—I AM NOT A CURSING TYPE OF PERSON! It just is natural that Careers would use bad language, so I use it in my story… I don't use these words in everyday speech.**

** I also want to note that I made up Glimmer's last name to be Rae, because the word 'glimmer' can mean two different things: sparkle, or a hint (as in, 'glimmer of hope'). As you can see, 'ray of hope' means the same thing as 'glimmer of hope'. Then I changed the spelling so her last name is Rae. I actually do this a lot when I make up names, as in 'Evilian' sounds like 'Evil woman' and 'Amber' is actually the name for a dark yellow color. **

** More made up names include 'Saber' (Clove's last name)—although it has nothing to do with knives (a saber is a type of sword) it just fit right with her name. Ghostlium (Cato and Clove's tree) means ghost-leaf, or no leaves, because 'folium' is the root word for leaf. Also, Ivor is short for ivory, which is white.**

** Okay, enough with the names. I want to thank 3PeetaAndKatniss3, Em74, and TheGirlThatShipsClato for their continued support (they review almost every chapter!) You guys give me the sweetest compliments… :) But if anybody finds a mistake/problem, you are TOTALLY welcome to criticize.**

** That's enough! Hope it is okay.**

** Happy reading!**

** -Ibbonray**


	19. Perfect Career

Unable to wipe the smirk off my face, I stomp into the living room of our floor, expecting to find our mentors and possibly Amber and Cato on the couch. Surprisingly, Ben and Evilian are absent, but my partner and escort are lounging there.

"LC!" Amber trills excitedly popping up and running over to hug me. I roll my eyes, and I know nothing, not even Amber's giddy, false-looking smiles, will put me out of my mood.

"Bet you kicked some target's butts," says Cato, leaning back, and I freeze.

_"Hey, Clove, how were tryouts?"_

_ "Oh, okay."_

_ "Bet you kicked some target's butts."_

_ "More like stabbed their chests." There was laughter. "What about you? Please the judges much?"_

_ "Oh, yeah, baby. This year's my year."_

_ This year's my year. This year's my year. _Yes, this is Cato's year to damage his friend Clove to breaking point, to cause me the trouble of strategy after strategy because he volunteered. _Goddamn he volunteered!_

I think of that day; the day before the reaping. The day before everything changed—how could I not have sensed that everything was about to change? Maybe I did. Maybe I just ignored it. But I should have appreciated it. I should have appreciated every good day I've ever had, the times that Cato and I laughed under Ghostlium, praise from the judges at the Training Center of District 2, learning to throw knives with Grandfather, and other small things. The way the sky looked on almost overcast nights, with dark patches amongst the gray; beautiful Cinder, my trainee partner; optimistic Enther, before I killed him.

Yes, I killed him. It was an accident. It was Cato's fault! All Cato!

_It's always Cato!_

They have been staring at me for the past thirty seconds, much to my embarrassment, so I pull away quickly from Amber, put on my I'm-About-To-Kill-You face, and growl at Cato. "Of course. And you're my next target."

I hate him. Oh, how I hate him. Launching myself at him, I knock him off the couch and I pin him on the floor, glaring as much as I can.

Then I punch.

My fist connects with his chest. _That was for Glimmer. _His jaw. _That was for lying._ His nose, which makes a satisfying crack. _That was calling me ignorant and this—_I throw an uppercut into the area just below his ribs, knocking the wind out of him—_this is for calling me a kid._

"Stop, stop!" Squeaks Amber from somewhere to my right, but I'm zoned in on Cato and pay her no mind. Cato, Cato, Cato. His icy blue eyes stare into mine, wondering, completely shocked and filled with pain, though he doesn't show it. Pain. Cato deserves pain. He should know what he's done. He called me a kid. He is a liar. I cannot forgive him for that.

I hear the sound of someone rushing out of the room, then several clicks of multiple heels. The clicks seem to taunt me, and for a second, I stare around in confusion. _Tsk, tsk,_ they say. _Punching him won't do you any good._

But killing him will. Yes, I'll kill him for reducing me to _this._ This ball of crazy emotions that I cannot control.

A woman enters, nose up, dark hair pulled up in a high bun. _Evilian._

Upon me, she goes completely mad. "What are you _doing?_" she shouts. "This is against the rules. Little girl, stop at once, I forbid you from ever laying a finger on our boy tribute again!"

I get up and cross my arms. "And if I do, what will happen?"

"I… I…" Evilian falters, and then I watch as a playfully evil expression crosses her face. "I shall spread the word about two young adults, by the names of Clove Saber and Cato Hadley, and how they have been sleeping together, _multiple times._"

The look on my face must be priceless. She _wouldn't._

Evilian laughs, and then regains her above-everyone-else façade, pulling Cato up from where he lies on the ground. He stands up, rocking ever slightly, and gives me a death glare so strong I would die a hundred times over if looks could kill through a mask of blood. "What," he spits, "was that for?"

"Oh, just a little thank you," I say sweetly. "You know you deserve it."

"No, I don't, actually."

"Enough small talk, how bad are you?" Evilian says to Cato.

"Is a broken nose bad?" Says Cato sarcastically.

"Bad enough," she says, leading him to the elevator. She glances back at me and says, "You have been warned, little girl. And you might want to watch your power."

Is that a complement from Evilian? I believe it is. I smile smugly, then turn to the hallway leading to my room, only to find that Amber has been standing there, shaking, the whole time.

"LC, can you—can you take me to my room?" Says Amber, feebly, cautiously, like I might blow up again and kick the shit out of her. I don't see why she can't take herself to her own room.

"What is the matter now?" I snap. Although I won't kick her to death, I can imagine the bloody scene. Does Amber have yellow blood? I wonder…

"I—I—I can't stand the sight of blood," she whispers.

"How do you even manage to watch the Games, then?" I say, rudely, but I don't care. I'm fed up with Cato, fed up with her, fed up with _everything!_

"I don't," she says shakily.

I feel sort of bad for her, and then strike a deal. "If you watch this Hunger Games, for me, then I'll take you to your room; and anything else you want me to do."

Amber nods with a look of alarm, and I take her back to her room. Her _yellow_ room, to be precise. The walls are yellow, the rug is yellow, the furniture is yellow, even the metal box that emits food in the corner is yellow… all in varying shades, of course.

Not that I'm surprised, I just don't see how somebody could stand so much of a bright, cheery color. It describes Amber perfectly. But I'm sure if I could choose a color for myself, it would be greenish gray, tinged with deep red.

_Just like my eyes. Just like a clove._

Bored, I have no idea what to do as I enter my room. It's only two. The scores are shown at seven. _I have to wait five fucking hours?!_

I decide to search every inch of my room. Could consume some time. Examining the walls, I find a button and press it.

There are some clicks and the groaning of gears, and then there's a hole in the wall and some sort of object shoots straight out of it, knocking me down flat on my back.

Ouch.

I get up, brushing myself off, and stare at the thing. It is a thin rectangle with a keyboard—I've seen these before. It's a… it's a… yes! It's a computer.

My name still on my mind, I draw up a chair from the other side of the room and sit in front of the computer, which is attached to the wall just like a T.V. screen, except there is a little counter in front of it with the keyboard. I press a button in the corner, and circle with a line going through half of it, and the computer powers up.

Once it's fully awake, I click on an icon labeled _Panem Internet_ and up pops a white box. Now I'm stumped. I've only seen one computer in my entire life—and it's at the Training Center in District 2, to record each trainee's information. It's not high-tech, like this one obviously is.

Unsure, I use the oval on a cord connecting to the computer (isn't it called a rat?) and click on the white box. Now there's a vertical dash flashing on and off in the box—I think this is what you're supposed to do.

Then I tap the 'C' on the keyboard. I'm so glad I have a good education. If I couldn't read and write—well, that would be the end of me.

Glad that the C is showing up in the box, I tap the letters 'l', 'o', 'v', and 'e' after the C to spell out my name. Then I push the enter button.

Right as I do this, a ton of things flash onto the screen. I move the rat so it scrolls over the first bullet, and click. Another website shows up, one called _Panpedia,_ saying that a clove is a flower that is blood red and grows on evergreen trees. Dry these flowers and they become cloves, as in the spice. _I never knew this before._ Maybe I can taunt Cato with saying that my name means a red flower, which leads to the fact that I am born to kill.

Knife girl. Born to kill. I like it.

I click the back button. Computers seem easy to handle! If only everything was this easy.

Next, I choose a file that says my name, _Clove Saber. _And it is locked.

Why would the information be locked? Then I see it. In the corner of the screen are the words _District 2 citizens only._

Laughing, I realize that maybe, just maybe, this site has something about training in it. Thing is, District 2 and every other district is forbidden by the Capitol to train future tributes, but that doesn't stop us. As long as we don't mention anything to anyone outside of Two, we're good.

Glancing at the password box, I see that there have to be fourteen characters. Hmm. Easy. _TrainingCenter._ I type it in and click the rat on the 'next' button.

Instantly, I see my picture on the screen, and next to it—information. Oh, so much information it's almost dizzying.

_Name: Clove Saber_

_ Gender: Female_

_ Age: Fifteen_

_ Birthday: December 25__th_

_ Home: #6, Victor's Village, District 2, Panem_

_ Appearance: Dark hair, gray-green eyes_

_ Height: 5'4''_

_ Weight: 102 lbs_

_ Single_

_ Mother: Lethe Saber_

_ Status: Victor of the fifty-third Hunger Games, weapon tester_

_ Fate: Deceased, overdose of morphling_

_ Father: Bane Saber_

_ Status: Victor of the forty-ninth Hunger Games, no job, alcoholic_

_ Fate: Deceased, alcohol poisoning_

_ Career: Clove is enrolled in the Training Center_

_ Chosen Weapon(s): Knife-throwing, hand-to-hand combat_

_ Status: Only child, best friend of Cato Hadley, winner of seven medals at Training events, girl tribute of the 74__th__ Hunger Games_

_ Fate: Yet to be determined._

It goes on and on and I eventually push the 'Off' button on the computer. This is too much. Best friends with Cato Hadley? Screw it! But there's one thing that really gets to me, that I didn't know until now:

_Father: Bane Saber_

_ Fate: Deceased, alcohol poisoning._

Not that I really care that he's dead now. I've always hated my father. But now I don't have the pleasure of seeing his surprised face when I come back alive. And if I come back to District Two, I will be simply, utterly alone.

Cato dead (not that it matters, he's a jerk), Marvel and Marina dead, mother and father dead. All I'd have was Cinder, and Cinder has enough strawberry blonde friends to forget I exist.

That's right. I will be alone.

So what is the point of winning the Games?

_Have I trained all these years just to... die?_

I shrug this off and daydream of a perfect world. A world where my mother is alive and I have a sibling who respects me and cares about me, and whom I respect back. A world where my father didn't die from alcohol poisoning, and doesn't drink at all. A world without the Hunger Games. A world where Cato and I are married, and have kids, and—

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! No, that won't happen, ever. Cato has hurt me. We're not friends anymore. I cannot love him, either. _No, I don't love him!_ Yes, I do. _No, I don't!_ Do I? Or do I not? But we'd never be married; he's just my best friend. No, he's not my best friend anymore. DAMN, I DON'T KNOW SHIT!

I fling myself onto my bed, and start to cry. I _never _cry. The last time I cried was a couple days ago—on the train. If I've cried twice in the last week… there must be something wrong with me. Something has gone horribly wrong. I've snapped. And now launching myself at Cato doesn't seem like such a good idea, because it just makes me feel worse.

_I shouldn't have beat Cato up._

His nose is broken, and it's my entire fault. But he deserved it! Yes, he did! Cato is a monster and a jerk and deserves to go to _hell hell hell!_

After I've run out of tears and my eyes are red and puffy, I make sure the door is locked and put on a stubbornly emotionless face and stare at myself in the mirror.

I look okay. Well, except for my eyes. But their puffiness will dissipate in the next hour, hopefully. And then I will be vicious, lethal, poisonously deadly again. Then you won't see that I'm broken inside, and that I always will be.

Career. I have to be a Career. I was raised to be a Career.

And I will make the perfect Career.

On the outside, anyway.

**Another Author's Note. I gotta say, I love writing Author's Notes. They make me feel like an extremely special author!**

**Thank you to all those followers, favoriters, and reviewers. I shall list you all here now:**

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**Reviewers:**

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**AAAAAND THE MULTIPLE GUESTS!**

**Some random stuff I want to include about this chapter:**

**SO CLOVE KILLED HER OLD BOYFRIEND, ENTHER. Shall be explained later… I want to leave you hanging. :)**

**I made up Panpedia. Basically, it is Panem's version of Wikipedia… he he. **

**Also, since Clove doesn't know much about computers… (Why would she? Technology is for District 3)… she calls the mouse a rat. Just another one of my moments where I wanted her to be confused… :)**

**I would like to thank Em74 once more for the totallyawesomelysuberblyamaz ingmindblowinglyperfect flashback idea. (For those of you who can't decipher that, it means totally awesomely superbly amazing mind blowingly perfect.) I'll use it in my next chapter, ALTHOUGH it will be changed up a bit to fit my needs. (I won't include THAT much swearing!)**

**Finally, I want to really apologize for being absent from Fanfiction a coupla days. You see, I had this humungous book report and it took DAYS to finish (I made a doll house out of paper, cardboard, markers, hot glue, fabric, and scissors… ) and now that my misson has been accomplished I'm back to action. We also have state testing going on and everything, I'm just SUPERDUPERLY busy. Sorry, again.**

**Read, review, love it, and hate it! Maybe my story isn't perfect, but I have some pretty rockin' people commenting on **_**The Gouge in the Table**_**!**

**-Ibbonray**


	20. A Very Sexy Tree Branch

When I finally manage to pull myself out of my room and face Cato, it's near six thirty—30 minutes until the scores are posted. I'm excited out of my mind for them, but dreading facing Evilian and Cato and Amber.

I trudge down the hall and enter the dining room.

They don't see me at first, and so I just observe. There is Ben, eating. (Well, you can guess what he's eating.) There is Evilian, stone-faced and helping herself to a roll. Although her superior façade makes her seem around fifty, I know she can't be more than twenty-five. Her games were the 67th Games, and I'm positive she was eighteen when she volunteered.

Crazy. My mentor is only a decade older than me!

Amber is tossing her hair from side to side, obviously flirting with Ivor. Yes, Ivor and Ghana are here! What a surprise. Ivor is as pale as ever and Ghana is laughing hysterically at one of Amber's jokes.

Then my eyes find Cato. His face is—well, there is no trace that I ever hurt him. The doctors fixed him up well. But I know that inside his pride is damaged, and that is good enough for me.

All of a sudden, I experience sudden longing. Longing for Cato. Longing to touch his shining hair and kiss his lips and gaze into his eyes forever and ever. Blue, blue, blue, a blue river running though fields of golden wheat.

My staring seems to last eternity until Cato locks eyes with me, and scowls. "Seems like the turtle came out of its shell at last."

So much for hiding.

"I am not a turtle!" I mutter and take a seat at the only chair left, which, to my utter disappointment, is right next to Cato.

They all look up at me, silent, until Ivor breaks the ice. "What is on your face?"

"Scabs," I glower.

"From what? We need to get those treated."

"District 1 girl's fingernails. Now would you please shut up?"

More silence.

"I see you wore the outfit I picked for you," Ivor ventures again, forming the words with his blood-red lips.

"It was good enough to wear. I don't see why it would matter to you."

"Oh, you two, I'm sure you'll do great on the scores!" Amber gushes.

Ghana agrees. "District Two is always the best of the best."

More silence.

"Shut your babbling mouths, you two. Can't you see that there is a serious silence match going on?" Evilian smirks.

Ben inhales a pastry.

There is more silence.

"So Amber told us that you two got in a… fight," Ivor says, looking pointedly at Cato and I. Furious, I search the table for a knife, but find none.

"If I had a knife at the moment I would kill you on the spot," I threaten.

"Which is exactly why we removed them," ventures Ben, from his seat at the head of the table. I purse my lips to keep from yelling curse words at him.

More silence. I pluck a chicken wing from its dish located a little too my left, and bite into it.

"So, what's the plan for the arena?" Asks Evilian desperately.

"Form an alliance, kill, break up the alliance, kill, until it all comes down to Clove and I. Then we'll work from there," says Cato for the first time.

I hate to agree, but I do. "Yes, we can make the audience a good show."

"Of course you'd give a great show, based on how much you seem to hate me these days!"

"The fault is yours, all damn yours!"

"Stop! STOP! One of you will do a great job killing the other, I don't doubt it. For now, let's just eat!" Ghana interrupts, trying to help out, but her words only rile us up more.

I cross my arms in front of my chest, letting my hair fall into my face. For now on, I am shunning everyone except for Marvel and Marina.

There is even more silence for a couple minutes, until Amber pipes, "Don't want to miss the scores, do we?"

"No, of course not."

Emptying my glass, I then clean up my plate and stack it on another empty one, just as Ghana reaches over and grabs my hand, yelling, "No, no! Let the Avoxes handle it!"

I do nothing more but scowl and keep stacking plates. If I want to help out the Avoxes, I shall help out the Avoxes, and there is nothing anyone can do to stop me.

Except when Cato takes hold of my arm and drags me to the living room. I hit at him but he pulls me along until he slams me onto the couch, taking as seat as far away from me as possible.

Great.

Evilian flicks on the television just as the anthem starts to play. I check the intricately designed wooden clock on the wall. Seven, on the dot.

Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith appear on the screen, laughing together, and then they turn to all of Panem.

"Welcome, welcome! You've all been waiting to see what tributes this year seem promising, which tributes deserve sponsoring. Now, the Capitol is pleased to present the Training scores!" Claudius says in a nasally voice that I avidly hate.

"As you all know, the scores are anything from one to twelve, twelve being superb and one being dreadful. Shall we start?" Caesar asks, and I can imagine Capitol citizens gathered in the square, booming, "YES! YES! PLEASE START!"

"Yes, we shall!" Claudius answers, and the scores start.

"Marvel Blithe, from District 1, with a score of… nine!"

I'm surprised that it's not a ten, considering that Marvel is the best spear-thrower I've ever encountered, but oh well.

"Glimmer Rae, from District 1!" Continues Caesar, and a picture of Glimmer alights the screen behind him. "With a score of… nine!"

Nine? Did I hear that correctly? What did she do, strip off her clothes for the Gamemakers?

"Nine?" I say, disbelieving. (So much for shunning everyone.)

"Glimmer's not incapable," Cato shoots at me.

"Incapable of what? Making out with you?" I say, and then turn back to the screen, where Caesar is continuing.

"Cato Hadley, District Two… a ten!" Caesar says gleefully, and I glance briefly at Cato, who stares at the screen for a second and then lets out a whoop.

"Oh, Cato, that's a _wonderful_ score!" Amber cries, actually tearing up a bit.

"We can work with that," Evilian nods, a hint of a smile on her lips, and I want to scream. _Who cares what the monster's damn score is?!_

I watch as Ghana gives Cato a sloppy kiss on the cheek, and Cato sidles away, coming up to me. "I got a ten, Clove! Isn't that great? Clove?"

Staring menacingly into his blue eyes with my green-gray ones, I promptly ignore him as Caesar says, "Clove Saber—my, my, a _ten!_"

A ten. I'm tied with Cato. I'm _always_ tied with Cato.

"LC!" Amber screams. "YOU GOT A TEN!" She tackles me with a hug and I am shoved away from Cato, pulled in an embrace.

Over her shoulder, I smile spitefully, making my eyes flash. "Look who's celebrating their superiority of every other tribute now… since they're tied."

Cato just scowls at me as the rest of the people in the room congratulate both of us. "We'll make sure you have plenty of sponsors." "Ohhh, this combined with the opening ceremonies—you'll be talk of the Capitol!" "Shh, listen to the scores." Meanwhile, Ghana and Amber share a teary embrace.

Marina gets a nine, and Krill surprisingly gets a seven, but that's not going to earn him a spot in our alliance. Then the Finch—the back talker from Five with the fox face—gets the same score as her district.

And she thinks she's so smart.

The rest of the tributes flash by quickly. Their low scores mean nothing to us, and we keep on whooping as yet another district receives weak, incompetent scores. Finally, it reaches eleven, and the boy, Thresh, gets a… no!

He tied us?

Just as I'm about to punch the screen in when Evilian takes hold of my arm, so I just let out a moan of resentment instead. So does Cato. I know the boy will be very hard to beat.

"Rue Arbound! Rue receives… a seven!" Caesar raises his eyebrows slightly at the camera.

"The little thing?" Amber gasps.

"Too bad she's going to be a bloodbather," Ben sighs quietly. "Seems that she has a strong spirit."

"Strong spirit?" Cato snorts. I do as well, internally.

Caesar interrupts from his spot next to Claudius. "Now, for District 12. Peeta Mellark, with a score of eight!"

A small fist of anger sits in my stomach at this, but I know what he's good at. Lover Boy, a year older than me I think, is strong. Not as strong as Cato or Thresh, of course, but strong enough to knock down a rack of spears with an eighty-pound weight.

I gotta hand him that.

Sitting up straight, I wait for the score we've all been waiting for… Fire Girl's. And Caesar seems anxious to meet our needs.

"Finally, Katniss Everdeen, with a score of…" Caesar raises his powder blue eyebrows in complete astonishment. He changes his hair color every year and I'm a little disappointed he didn't keep last year's color—crimson. He looked like he was bleeding. It suited him.

"Eleven!" He booms, and then the anthem plays again.

Eleven? Did he just say… no. No! He did not just say Katniss Everdeen got an eleven! It is im_possible!_ Impossible, impossible, impossible!

The girl—she has talent. True talent. I can't help but admire her for that, but the rage and jealousy inside me overrule. _Damn damn damn damn damn DAMN! _

Amber, Ghana, and Ivor mutter to each other with amazed expressions and Evilian and Ben stare paralyzed at the screen. As this is happening, Cato flicks the television off, leaps to his feet, and yells at the top of his lungs, "THAT DAMN BITCH!"

I'm about to join him, when a thought strikes me. _Cato has never been beaten by a girl before._ Sure, I've tied him. I'm best in the Training Center, in the girl's division anyway, but I can never seem to pass Cato up. We're best friends; we're equivalent together. _Okay, maybe not best friends anymore, but we're still equivalent._ And now, Fire Girl has a point more than him.

I giggle quietly, then start laughing hysterically. Oh, what a coincidence. My best friend, _beaten by a girl!_

Everyone turns to gape at me, but Cato is worse. He comes up, shaking me, yelling, "YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY? WHAT THE HELL, CLOVE! SHE'S BETTER THAN US AND WE'RE GOING UP AGAINST THE BITCH IN THE ARENA!" Then he slaps me, hard.

Not even feeling the pain, I glare defiantly up at him, and say, "Go die in a hole Cato, now that you're ego's been broken by a _bitch._" Standing up, I ram my elbow into his chest and sprint to my room, not even caring about the spectacle we were making for our mentors, escort, and stylists. Who cares, anyway?

I lock the door and then touch my cheek, already feeling a bruise forming under the scabs from Glimmer's fingernails. Cato is such a jerk I can't even stand it. And, yes, there he is… pounding on my door.

"I have no damn ego!"

"Sure you don't!" My voice is sarcastic and muffled from my pillow, which I bury my face into. _Please, please, please,_ I beg. _Smother the pain—the mental and physical combined!_

His body is slamming against the door. There are so many memories of him doing this. I choose one and immerse myself in it.

_I had just hit another growth spurt. Most people in my grade shot up like this when they were nine. Well, being twelve, and the shortest kid in the grade, I was very, _very _proud of myself._

_ We were sitting on the thickest branch Ghostlium had. (This was one of the last times we sat on it… it broke under Cato's weight a few weeks later.) Cato was off on some rant about his newest girlfriend breaking up with him and I just tuned it all out._

_ "Guess what?" I said brightly, interrupting something about her beautiful blonde hair and how he was going to miss it. _

_ "What, Clove?" Cato snarled, and I hopped to my feet, balancing on the branch very well, and then inched away from him. "Oh, sorry." He quickly said, then reached out and pulled me back to sitting position. "I'm just a little… you know…"_

_ On blow-up mode. I knew that. But I couldn't resist sharing with him my news. I had shot up a size! _

_ "Look! I went from medium to large!" I said, showing off my new t-shirt. It was dark with green lines crisscrossing in a lightning pattern. I loved it and I was sure Cato would love it too._

_ Since Cato pretty much thought that my growth was doomed, I expected him to say, 'Wow, Clove! Looks like the midget isn't such a midget anymore!' and pull me into an embrace._

_ I was sorely misguided._

_ "Are you fucking kidding me? What's wrong with you? Who cares about what size of shirt you own WHEN I'VE JUST BEEN DUMPED BY AMIVACIA!"_

_ "Why don't you understand?" I snapped. "I've been waiting forever to become normal-sized and it's not like it's the end of Panem! Amivacia is a vain bitch and a who—"_

_ Cato slapped me and I was so surprised I fell backwards off the branch, landing flat on my back, wind knocked out of me. I gasped for breath as he leapt off Ghostlium and towered over me._

_ "You're the whore," he says, giving me a murderous gaze, and I my mouth seemed frozen. Was this my best friend? This distant predator who looked like he was about to kill me?_

_ "The fucking whore," he breathed, and slapped me again. This put me out of my stupor. I leapt up, kicked him in the head, and ran away. That was my tactic—running to my room. And how very good at it I was. Because once I locked the door the pounding had started up, just like now._

_ I never understood Amivacia and Cato together. She was shallow, and only was good for kissing. She broke Cato's heart, for a day. She broke our friendship, for a day. But then I accepted Cato's apology and Amivacia and Cato got back together and all was well._

But not this time, though. He's broken me, and no apologies will do any good.

He keeps up the pounding on my door, and I'm afraid it's going to break down soon. "Stop! STOP IT, CATO! YOU'RE A FUCKING MONSTER AND I HATE YOU, SON-OF-A-BITCH!"

There is a slight pause, and then he continues on kicking and punching at the rectangle of wood.

For once, I'm glad it's solid oak.

Eventually, I hear Evilian's irritable voice telling Cato, "You better stop breaking the door down or you could be arrested."

"They can't arrest me," I hear his shaky voice. Is he… is he crying? What the hell?

"They have two more days to find another tribute—so they could. They very well could. If not, boy, they'll give you a bloody, horrid end in that arena."

"I'm going to end, anyway! Who cares if it's bloody or not?"

I hear Evilian's huff and I assume she drags him off by the swearing that becomes distant and a door slamming at the other end of the hall.

Burying myself in the soft covers, I whimper. No showering for me tonight. I'll stay right here, thank you very much. But I won't cry. I won't. _Careers don't cry THREE DAMN TIMES IN ONE FREAKING WEEK!_

No crying. No crying. I take deep breaths, swallowing the lump in my throat. _In, out. In, out. You are perfectly fine, Clove._

I slowly drift off to sleep, and dream pleasant things, ironic considering the circumstances. Marvel runs up to me in the midst of bright sunlight, and gives me a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek. "I heard you grew a size!" He says. "You're not my midget Marvel-Girl anymore!"

"Not anymore, Marbles. Don't slap me."

"I wouldn't in a million years. Guess what? Cato was lounging in a tub of pomegranate juice over there and I couldn't resist throwing a chicken wing at his head! He is now in hell."

"You mean he's dead?"

"Of course. All because of my amazing throwing skills."

Marina pops from thin air behind him. "You have the throwing skills of a tree branch."

"A very _sexy_ tree branch, my dear girlfriend," he replies, and in the midst of my dream, I think, _chicken wings impaling Cato in the head? How odd._

"How are tree branches sexy?" I ask them. But they don't answer because they are kissing.

I wake up, at one in the morning, extremely confused. Marvel and Marina? Kissing? What the hell? And Cato dead in a bath of pomegranate juice? What is wrong with me?

Then I drift off again, in a thankfully dreamless sleep.

**AN time!**

**This is the LONGEST CHAPTER YET! And it's all thanks to Em74, she is a GENIUS! :) I owe her everything for Chapter 20. Dear Em74: YOU ARE A LIFE SAVER! **

**If ANYBODY has a flashback idea, I will definitely try to incorporate them (if they fit with the story!)**

**New follower: AbbyMellark21**

**New favoriters: Em74, charliesunshine, and AbbyMellark21**

**New reviewers: hungergamesgirl999 and charliesunshine! **

**I mentioned all my other followers, favoriters, and reviewers in my last chapter. If I skip you, just PM me to let me know… :)**

**Some random stuff I want to include about this chapter:**

**Marvel's chosen last name is Blithe. I looked up synonyms for funny and that was a word that popped up…. And I loved it… And it fit perfectly… So yeah.**

**Although in the movie, the District 4 boy got an eight, I thought he would probably get around a six, so I just put it in the middle. Hope that's ok.**

**I chose Amivacia's name to be Amivacia because in Roman root words, ami means love and vac means empty. So pretty much, her name means empty love. Like it? :)**

**Okay, the dream was absurd, but I had to think of **_**something.**_** Since I believe that dreams are related somehow to what happened during your day, I added the chicken wings and pomegranate juice because that's what she ate for dinner, and the tree branch because that's what Cato and Clove were sitting on during the flashback. AGAIN, EM74, LOVE YOU! **

**Anyway, as I was saying, I also decided to have Marvel and Marina kiss because I totally, definitely, positively ship Marvel/Marina. (I just figured out that if you combine their names you get either Marvel, or Marina, which COMPLETELY SHOCKED ME! Well, I suppose that it could be Marvina…) I don't ship Marvina as much as I ship Clato, but I still am obsessed with both all the same… GLIMMER WILL NEVER BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR MARVEL **_**OR**_** CATO! (That is my belief.)**

**Just wanna say, I found this weird website where you find out your Hunger Games name. Mine is Tormet E. Kicksage. What a laugh… :D**

**Also, I would like to mention that many people have asked me to do an Alternate Ending to this story. I'm sorry to say, I planned on having her die when I started it, and Cato too… and pretty much have my mind set on them going to heaven together. BUT I might write another story with an alternate ending, Cato's POV, maybe a one-shot? It's just an idea; don't get your hopes up too high. **

**You guys are all great. I know my ANs seem very dragged out, but I just have sooooo much to share. :d**

**Have a great day/evening, everyone!**

**-Ibbonray**


	21. I'm Doomed

I scream, as I am drenched in freezing water.

"What was that for?" I yell at Evilian, who stands at the foot of my bed with an empty bucket.

"I told you, 'up', and you wouldn't get up," she smirks. "My tactic is freezing water."

"Doesn't Amber usually wake me up?"

"She was too scared to. Didn't want you to think that she was Cato or something like that—idiotic, if you ask me. Now, get your ass to breakfast, we have to plan your interviews today. No more than five minutes in the shower!" She exits and slams the door behind her.

I clench my fists, shivering, and hop out of bed. "Fine!" I call, and run to the shower.

The water is steaming hot and makes my muscles relax, but I know that I have to stay awake because with my little shower incident the other day this would give me a reputation of sleeping at unusual points of time.

I use the lemon grass scented shampoo and conditioner, and then push a button that emits gritty orange peel-scented soap all over me. This takes a couple minutes to get off, and by then my shower time is over.

Finally clean, I choose a pair of bright orange short shorts and a black t-shirt, with knee-high striped socks to go with it. Perfect. Then I put my hair in its ponytail (I don't think I've ever really had it in a style other than down or in a ponytail—shocking, I know,) and dash out the door.

Evilian and Amber are sitting at breakfast, but Ben and Cato are absent. I take a seat next to Amber and she slowly backs away from me.

"Oh, Amber, don't be afraid of me. I only practice my knives on people who have gotten on my bad side, and I don't think you have… yet," I say sweetly.

Even though this should slightly petrify her, Amber actually looks a little relieved and scoots back. "Who _has_ gotten on your bad side, LC?"

"Cato," I smirk, surveying the breakfast table for something good to consume. My eyes land on strawberry crepes (without the whipped cream, of course… we still can't have anything as sweet as that,) and I help myself to three of them.

"And why is that?" Evilian says, her eyebrows raised.

I am about to say, _he just is a jerk,_ but then I think about it. Why am I furious with him, anyway? He did call me a kid, and ignorant, but I think this is mostly about Glimmer. And what has he done to Glimmer that makes me so angry? He kissed her.

_So I'm jealous._

Amber and Evilian stare at me, the most confusing expressions on their unalike faces.

"What?" I ask. "Wait… did I say that I was jealous aloud?"

"Yes, you did, little girl," Evilian looks amused.

"Oooh, jealous of what?" Amber giggles, glad to find that she was in on a little gossip. "Cato's fighting skills?"

"No! Forget about it!" I yell.

They stare at me some more, much to my discomfort, and so I take a bite of crepe. Then it dawns on Evilian.

"I was one of them," she whispers, eyes wide. "One of those people who didn't think Careers felt anything. I didn't. I never felt love. But you, Clove—"

"Love?" Asks Amber, still puzzled, as I say; "You used my name for once!"

"No, I didn't, little girl!" Evilian snaps. "Come on, I've seen you sneak out of his room, and he out of yours, in the early morning. Don't you be jealous of District One, or else it will be the end of you."

She understands. Somebody finally gets it! Somebody finally sees what I've been going through since I first caught Glimmer flirting with my best friend. Or, _old_ best friend. He puts up with her. Cato doesn't shove her away. And for that, I can't help but dislike him now.

Two crepes and a couple minutes later, Ben drags Cato into the dining room, Cato protesting all the way. I see that Cato took forever to get up too—he must have been pounding on my door well into the early morning. Maybe not that long—but it seemed like it.

Or maybe he just didn't want to show his freaking face to me. That could be it, too.

"Sorry," Ben mutters, as if to himself, while taking a seat. "Cold water didn't work."

"I'm tired," Cato glowers, grabbing a cup of coffee from its perch on a silver tray. "Of course cold water didn't work."

"It worked for me," I say, frowning.

"Screw it!" He yells.

"Somebody's a little sensitive today," Evilian says in a teasing tone.

"No kidding," I breathe. "So what are we doing today?"

"Ohh, LC! You and I are going to have so much fun! First, I get to teach you etiquette for four hours, and then Evilian will spend the next four hours preparing you for your angle at the interviews. Same with you, Cato, except Ben will prepare you and the order of the day is the other way around!" Amber says in a shrill voice.

"Sounds _fun,_" Cato mutters sarcastically. I agree silently.

"How much proper etiquette takes four hours to perfect?" I ask incredulously.

"Well, we have to work on balancing on high heels, of course, and proper ways to curtsy, and how you hold your dress, and posture, and smiling, and hand gestures, and—"

"Enough, Amber," Evilian interrupts. "The girl's heard plenty."

I nod in agreement.

When everyone finishes their breakfast, it's time for my etiquette lesson. Amber leads me to her yellow explosion of a room and sits me down on her bed.

"Now, LC, do you know how to walk in high heels?"

"Of course." I've walked in them only a few times in my life—each reaping, I wear inch-high black heels, but besides that, never. Although, I suppose, if I can balance on a inch-thin bar for thirty seconds with a blindfold over my eyes, how hard can this be? Plus, I'll never admit to Amber that I'm not experienced.

Amber claps her hands, tells me, "Great!" and fetches a pair of _at least _five-inch long heels, the color of a recently bloomed dandelion.

"Now, walk in these!" She instructs. I step into them carefully, thinking, _Oh, no._

Standing up, I take one small step, balancing precariously on the balls of my feet.

"Good, good!" Amber encourages, and I take another step, small, tiny. I still have my balance. This is easy!

Confidence boosted, I take a large step forward, and twist my ankle, falling to the floor. At least I have my hands to catch my fall.

"Amber?" I say from the ground, as her expression goes from surprise to concern, and then she rushes toward me on the ground. "Can I have some shorter heels?"

"Yes, of course, LC! Did you do anything to yourself?"

"Twisted my ankle, no big deal." I shrug it off. It doesn't hurt that much, anyway. I am experienced at ignoring pain.

"Thank Snow. Now, give those to me, and I'll get you another pair. Keep in mind that if you fall on stage like this, just smile and pick yourself back up!" Amber says in a bubbly voice, and removes her heels from my feet, diving back into her closet for shorter ones. I pick myself up and sit back on the bed.

_I'm doomed._

**Short, and just a filler chapter… but filler chapters are necessary for all stories! (Right?)**

**New followers: Love cato and mockingjay9**

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**I just realized, when I was looking back at PMs, that I promised TheGirlThatShipsClato that I would mention her story in my AN, because she mentioned mine in hers… and I totally forgot! So I would like to recommend, if you like **_**The Gouge in the Table, **_**read **_**Stubborn Love **_**by TheGirlThatShipsClato, it is a magnificent story.**

**Thank Snow, as Amber said, is another way of saying Thank God/Thank goodness, except since President Snow is ruler of Panem, I just thought it fit… :)**

**Hope you liked it… tell me if I should include anything more. To TheUnrulyBallerina: I added the part where Clove accidentally says she's jealous of Glimmer out loud for your sake. I hope it clears up any left over confusion for you… :)**

**Okay! Happy reading/writing/fanfictioning! -Ibbonray**


	22. To Need and To Earn

"You need to do better than _that,_ little girl."

"I told you, I'm trying! Sarcastically sweet is hard around _you._"

"It's all an act… and I don't care if your acting skills are bad, you have to pull it off or else no sponsors for you!" Evilian puts her hands on her hips and huffs loudly.

I sulk. We've been at this for about three hours and although sarcastically sweet matches me perfectly (if, of course, you add a hint of viciousness, arrogance, and mystery,) it's nearly impossible to pull this off in front of Evilian. I just can't manage the sweet part of it, especially when she calls me 'little girl'.

"Now, let's try again. I'm Caesar. I have just introduced you as Clove Saber, the girl tribute from Two." I roll my eyes, but then regain my posture like Amber spent an hour on teaching me. "Now, Clove, you look stunning. How do—"

"How do you know I'll look stunning?" I break in, totally forgetting that I'm in the middle of a fake interview.

"That's what Caesar always says! Besides, I've seen your damn interview dress. You might not look stunning but it's guaranteed that he'll say this!" She snaps.

"What does the dress look like?" I ask curiously.

"Ivor wants it to be a surprise."

"And do either of us care what Ivor wants?"

"I can't tell you, little girl, because I don't break promises, and what's the point, anyway? Look, now you've gotten me off track," she groans. "Where were we? Oh, yes. You look stunning. How do you like your stylist so far?"

"Well enough. He got me to look like this, didn't he?" I say smoothly. Or, _I_ think I say it smoothly. Apparently Evilian doesn't because she slaps me in the cheek right where Cato did last night. I grit my teeth until the pain fades.

"You _have _to make it sound like it's a _complement,_ idiot! I'll ask it again. How do you like your stylist so far?"

"Well enough. He got me to look like this, didn't he?" I snarl, rolling my eyes to the ceiling.

"Fine, sound like that, get zero sponsors, I don't freaking care."

"Okay, okay! I like Ivor well enough. He made me look like this, didn't he?" I say one more time, and thankfully it sounds genuine.

"That was… not horrible," Evilian hesitates. "Let's continue. I agree, Clove, the color suits you."

"What color is it?" I break in.

"What does it matter?"

"Is it red?"

"No."

"Good," I say. "Well, Caesar, it doesn't suit me as much as the red of a clove flower."

Evilian raises an eyebrow, playing along. "True, true. It does seem to match your personality, doesn't it? Doesn't it?" She turns to an imaginary crowd, raising her hands to thin air. I laugh because she looks absolutely ridiculous.

"Now, Clove, let's talk about that ten. Fine score for a girl so small!" Evilian smirks at this, and I send her a glare before putting on a knowing look.

"You can't underestimate petite women. My mother, for instance, won her Hunger Games when she was an inch taller than me." I think it's a good statement until Evilian slaps me again.

_"Don't_ mention your mother. I know she was the rebellious type. Refused prostitution. The Capitol hated her, and they'll hate if you mention her," she hisses, and I freeze. _She refused prostitution? Is that why I have no relatives on her side, besides distant ones?_

"Oh," I say, making the _perfect _comeback. (That is sarcasm, you know.) "Well… how about, 'you cannot underestimate petite women, especially not when they have a knife on them.'"

Evilian thinks for a moment, and then she sighs. "I suppose that will do. You are not allowed to mention what you did during the private sessions, but 'knives' is too weak of a term to disqualify you. You would have to elaborate some for it to cause any real damage. Go with that, if you must."

I nod slightly and lean back in my chair, yawning.

"I'm Caesar again," Evilian warns. "Knives; sound perilous. What are your chances of winning the Games, do you think?"

"As much as my district partner, maybe better, I'd say. You've all seen him. But I'm planning on defeating Cato soon enough to get back home. I'm almost _destined _to win," I say arrogantly.

"So, do you have any one waiting at home? A loving mother, father? Best friend? Boyfriend?" Evilian gives me a lopsided grin, touching a nerve.

"That's not fair!" I yell at her, jumping from my seat and smacking her in the cheek, like she has done to me so many times.

"But say he asks that? You have to be prepared, little girl."

"Fine!" I scowl. "I have no one at home."

"Elaborate on whom you don't have," Evilian says, corners of her lips sliding up even further.

"Now you just want to get information out of me. I am _not_ including this in my interview!" I mutter, face flushed in anger.

"My parents were both winners of the Hunger Games. My mother's dead of an overdose of morphling. My father died of alcohol poisoning after I left home. There are only two people who are nice to me in Two; Cato and a girl who wasn't really my friend in the first place. The other one's dead. And I'll never have a freaking boyfriend again because the only guy I like is going to die. He's going to fucking die if I come back here! I hate him anyway!"

My voice has raised an octave and is much louder than before. Thank God Evilian's room is soundproof.

I blink the tears away. Why have I spilled out all my emotions like this to the most cold-hearted mentor the world has ever known? Because she'll understand? Screw it. Evilian won't ever understand.

To my utter surprise, Evilian comes right over and hugs me. Hugs me? Impossible! But she actually has me in an embrace. I pinch myself to see if I'm dreaming, _hard._ Hmm. Not dreaming. So this is real.

Finally, I let the tears flow. For the third time this week. But those tears didn't seem fulfilling. Those tears were selfish tears, for my miserable life. But these are for my parents, for Enther, who died at my hand, for Cato, and for myself—although, not about my horrid life, but about the opportunities I never took, and the confusing feelings that come with wondering what your life purpose is.

Evilian eventually pulls away and gives me a sympathetic look. "So, back to practicing?"

I laugh, drying my tears with the sleeve of my shirt. "Back to practicing."

"What is your favorite thing at the Capitol?"

"Training Center, obviously. I mean, who doesn't love to handle weapons?"

"Say it again, mysteriously. That sounded very… flat," Evilian offers.

"Whatever. Of course, the Training Center. I've never met a Career who doesn't love handling weapons."

Finally, after forty-five more minutes, we're finished. "You'll do well enough," Evilian says. We head to the dinner table, where Ben, Cato, and Amber sit, talking quietly.

"Oh, there you are!" Amber shouts. "I was starting to think you were having a girl party without me!"

"A girl party?" I scoff, taking a seat next to Ben.

"Yes, a girl party. It would be so much more fun than teaching Cato to bow. He is _incapable._"

We all stare humorously at Cato, who crosses his arms and slouches in his seat.

"I told you, Amber," Ben says softly. "Cato's angle is ruthless. You don't bow when you're ruthless."

"He'll need to bow to Glimmer during their wedding, when he has to say 'May I have this dance?'" I laugh; glad to see Cato's glowering face.

"That's enough, Clove," Evilian cuts in.

"Precisely. You can't walk in heels, anyway!" Amber says.

"That's because I twisted my ankle on the pair that you gave me first!" I mumble indignantly.

"Didn't think a twisted ankle would hold you down," Cato says, in return of my comment against him.

"Ohh, burn!" Evilian says sarcastically.

"That's twelve's job," I say.

"Oh, really." Another sarcastic comment.

There is silence for a while, only shattered by the clinking of silverware on china plates.

Maybe I'm wrong about Evilian. She seems distant and compassionless, but she still is only twenty-five. She's sarcastic, she's sardonic, she can be annoyingly arrogant, but she does show a little empathy to those who need it.

But it also makes me think, maybe I haven't earned it.

**Hello, all!**

**So Clove has finally let her feelings spill. Only one more day (in book terms) until there will be Clato. I'm so excited to get to that part… all these fillers are getting annoying. :d **

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**If I skipped you, I'm so sorry, just PM me! **

**This will be a short AN, there's nothing I really want to explain. Happy reading!**

**-Ibbonray :D**


	23. Interviews Part l

"Give me that!" I yell at Ivor, hands on hips without a hint of clothing on my body—but I don't care.

"No!" He holds my stone bottle necklace away from me.

"I have my knife on me, and I'm not afraid to use it," I warn, beckoning for him to hand the necklace over. _Nobody_ touches my necklace.

"There is no reason for you to harm me. The Gamemakers have to check your District token before it is allowed into the Games, to make sure it cannot be used as a weapon," Ivor says calmly.

My hand drops to my side, and I slouch. "Oh."

Last night, I went to sleep quickly, and woke up this morning before the sun, as to make sure I didn't get cold water dumped over me. I didn't, thank God. Whoever came up with that wake-up-the-person solution was insane.

After breakfast, our stylists and prep teams came up and led us back to the Remake Center. I was dreading the metal tables and the waxing supplies but thankfully, this time the waxing didn't hurt as much now that there was little to no hair to rip out.

Ink filed and painted my nails a pale orange color, exclaiming, "What did you do to chip off that polish so fast?" I smirked inwardly—knowing that the fault was of me and my knives, of course. Then Latan applied my makeup with a heavy hand as Piqua did up my shining hair.

Then, Ivor entered, and took my necklace. I was furious. But I guess I'll have to part with it—at least for a little while.

"IIIIIIIIvooooooor!" Somebody shouts from outside the door, probably Piqua. "Can we bring the dress out now, pleeeease?"

Ivor stows the necklace away in his pocket and grumbles with his clove-flower-red lips, "If you must. Clove, shut your eyes."

"Why?" I ask, still naked, of course. But I've come to think of my prep team and stylist as odd-looking birds of paradise, and Ivor the leader of the fleet, (although he is also a vampire/zombie, as well). (In my mind.) This way, I don't feel so uncomfortable.

"It's a suuuuurprise!" Ink trills, from just behind the door.

"Is her eyes closed yet?"

I sigh and squeeze my eyes tightly together. "Yes," I call, and I hear the creaking of an opening door and the shuffling feet of somebody carrying something large that _cannot_ touch the ground.

Soon, Latan instructs me to step forward about a foot, lifting my leg up pretty high. I comply, muttering swear words all the way, because why was I given eyes when I'm not allowed to fucking see what I'm doing?

The cool, albeit a little rough, fabric slides up my body and is zipped up. I instantly note that this is, one; not the most comfortable dress in the world, two; not too short, thank God, and three: one of those dresses without straps. Goddamnit.

There is a little tweaking to my hair, and I am guided into a pair of shoes. They're not preposterously high, but aren't flats, either. This will prove a slight problem. But I can manage. As long as this dress isn't hideous, it doesn't matter.

I'm not touched for about thirty seconds, and I ask if I can open my eyes now.

"Of course, sweetie pie," says Ink in a helpful (but sickening) tone.

My eyelashes flutter open and I stare at the girl in the mirror.

At first, I'm outraged. _I hate this fucking dress!_

Then, I back away, tilting my head to the side. From far away, I don't look _too_ bad… the orange dress on me looks horrid up close but you can't see the ruffles if you're fifty feet in the audience.

And close up, you can't help but admire some of the little details.

If the pale orange doesn't fit me, the makeup does. My lips are ruby red and my eyes are lined heavily in dark eyeliner and mascara, the eyeliner flicked to the side almost like a cat's. It also makes my green/gray eyes pop, to my satisfaction.

My hair is… good enough. Not my preference, but it'll do. It's located in a high bun on top of my head, and then comes down in a ponytail like normal. Training Center Clove and Sweet Girly Clove combined.

And my dress—my breast area is covered with dark orange ruffles, stopping when a pale strap encircles the top of my ribcage, topped off with… ugh… a bow. I guess I'll get over it.

The rest of the skirt is made of tulle layered so you can see nothing but the color orange. It's not full-skirted, but doesn't hug my thighs—pretty much in the middle—and comes to about my ankles.

My heels are orange and strappy, with a polished piece of topaz connecting all the straps in the middle. They are about three inches tall and I hope to God I won't trip.

Overall, I'll be fine. It shall complement my sweet/sarcastic/arrogant/vicious/mysterious angle perfectly. Which should get me a couple sponsors.

"Twirl for me!" Piqua says, clapping her hands and jumping up and down, purple spiky mohawk waving from side to side. So I do. I spin around once, lose my balance slightly, and catch myself on the metal table/bed.

"Ohhh," they all sigh, except for Ivor, who nods in approval and tells me, "Designed just for you. Like it?"

I just shrug. Actually, I'm not really fond of it, but I can't resist my stylist—Ben and Evilian's rules precisely from a little over half a week ago. Has it been that long? It seems like forever, but then it passes by so quickly…

_No. I am not nervous for the Games. That's not why._ If anything, I am excited to be in the arena tomorrow. Then what's the matter?

_Cato, evidently._

Ivor nods again, and then pats his pocket. "Your necklace is safe with me, Clove."

Amber comes rushing in the room and literally screams at the sight of me. "Oh my Snow, you look absolutely _gorgeous,_ LC! Just wait until you're star of the show—_PLEASE GIVE ME THAT DRESS WHEN YOU'RE FINISHED WITH IT!"_

Laughing, I curtsy to her, perfectly, the way she taught me. Just to show her that I can be ladylike when I want to. "But, Miss Riverlace, the dress might not fit you and then you'd feel horrible about ripping my stylist's wonderful finished product," I deny her. "Besides, isn't yellow your color?"

Amber's expression falls, and then she perks up again, turning to Ivor. "Oh, IIIIIIIIIIvooooooooooor," she says, (imitating Piqua's earlier comment without knowing it,) "You'd make some adjustments, wouldn't you? You would even change the color, just for me. Wouldn't you, darling?"

Darling? I use her momentary flirting attempts to take off my heels, hiding them behind my back and burying the sigh of relief that follows. I haven't been in these topaz shoes for a minute and my feet are already starting to hurt? God.

"Put those heels back on, missy!" Latan says, gliding across the room and plucking the footwear out from behind my back. "You have to make an _impression,_ and the impression has to include me, too."

I glance at his selfish face and snatch the heels from them, resisting the urge to hurl one across the room and have it snap with the force of impact.

"She makes a good impression on _me,"_ Ink says defiantly, and I give her a rare smile.

"Oh, oh! Come, come. Most of the tributes are already lined up, Cato too. We have to hurry before they lead you onto stage!" says Amber

Is life always a hurry for Amber? Rush to this, scurry to that, never stop to enjoy the moment. I honestly bad for the woman.

I wave one short wave, almost a salute, to my prep team and Ivor. Piqua swoons and Ivor crosses his arms, trying to look tough. I just roll my heavily made-up eyes at him and turn, balancing as well as I can on the topaz and orange strappy heels.

Amber prattles away at me. "So, you look positively wonderful! But you've got some competition from One. Her dress is so… flashy." She hesitates before flashy, as if contemplating whether to tell me all about it. "Oh, and Cato, he's handsome! You'll be a great couple."

"A couple?" I wrinkle my nose. "You're acting like this is some sort of dance!"

"But—you'd be the cutest couple—"

"No," I spit. "Don't even talk about it."

She shrugs, and continues. "Anyway, all my friends are in the audience! I told them about you. I say that you're so talented even the teeniest of insects stop to watch you when you use your chosen weapon. Don't worry! I haven't spilled about the throwing knives," Amber giggles. "One of them even promised to video you on stage for me. I'll show you afterward! Oh, I also told them…"

Blah, blah, blah. I tune out. What's the point of her friend videoing me when I'm about to be videoed by cameramen who are going to televise me all over Panem? There is no point.

Finally, we walk across the street to a larger than life building and take a side door, coming into a room filled to the brim with teenagers in dresses and suits, air stuffy but any talking virtually nonexistent.

"I'll drop you here. The Peacekeepers will get you into order. Have fun, LC! Remember, smile for the cameras, and good posture, and lots of hand gesturing and facial expressions, and _no tripping in those heels._ Got it?"

"Whatever, Ambs."

I turn and force my way past a couple districts, spotting Marvel and Cato's heads above all the others.

"Marvel-Girl!" Marvel booms and smirks when he sees me. Then he comes over and pulls my hair, yanking me over to the rest of our ally group.

"Stop! Stop!" I yell at him. "Ivor and Amber and my prep team will _kill_ me if you mess up my hair."

"Whatever."

First I stare at Marvel. He is dressed in the most ridiculous powder blue suit with a dark blue and yellow tie. I snort as he covers his chest in mock offense, saying, "Hey, I did not pick this garment out, it belongs to Cato over there!"

I turn to Cato, smirking, and then the grin slips from my face slightly. He looks so fucking lethal in an entirely black suit that I can't help but be in awe of the way the black complements his fine blonde hair.

Shaking it off, I mentally throw a rock at myself. _Don't think that way. He's got hots for Glimmer. The jerk._

Of course, maybe the lethalness is added on to by the way he is glaring at Marvel and I.

"Get away from her," Cato grimaces.

"Guardian angel again? Thought you had Glimmer—don't you worry, Cato, we're not together or anything. I've got the girlfriend over there," Marvel says, indicating to Marina, who I turn to.

Marina looks stunning, and I am instantly envious of her dark green v-neck dress that is tight, but not outrageously so. A blue ribbon is tied around her waist and there's one in her hair, too—the blue also appears on her dangly earrings and on her sandals of green and blue crisscrossed silk.

"I'm not your girlfriend," Marina has a fake sour look on her face.

"You're mine, if you separate the girl and the friend," I say. "And if you win the Games, please make sure I'm wearing your dress the day of my funeral."

"Marvel-Girl likes dresses?"

"Only if they're not this," I say, picking at the frills.

"You look fine," Glimmer whines, begging to get into the conversation. "You don't look like a whore, at least!"

One glance and I've had enough. I see now the… _flashy…_ Amber was talking about. Her dress is a dreadfully see-through gold number—the outfit of a complete _prostitute_.

Nobody contradicts her comment. To wear something that short—and revealing—I would throw a fit!

"What? Is it Don't-Talk-To-Glimmer Day?"

"No, Glimmer, of course not," Marvel says. "You look fine," he follows up, unconvincingly.

I use this chance to stare at her some more—_not_ the private areas. That would just make me throw up, and that would ruin my lipstick, and then no sponsors for Miss Clove Saber from Two with the Wacky Makeup Job.

Instead, I go for her hair, long, billowing, and… even at the bottom. No fucking way! Is there some sort of miracle hair growth at the Capitol? There must be.

Remembering the prank that backfired in my face, I shudder, and look to Cato's wrist. Thank God—the bracelet is gone. When did he cut it off? I was too busy moping to remember.

"You really think so?" Says Glimmer, replying to Marvel's fallacious comment. Then she twirls a lock of perfect hair around her finger, saying seductively, "Keep up the comments and I might even let you in my bed tonight."

I roll my eyes and watch as Marina and Cato raise their eyebrows. Marvel, however, looks like a sick puppy.

"I thought you and Cato were an item," says Marina carefully.

"Of course!" Glimmer waves a hand in Cato's direction, whom I see has a forced blank expression on his face. "But I know my district partner pines for me, it would just be doing him a favor."

"A favor? You don't just look like a whore, you _are_ a whore!" I say, glancing at Marvel, who recoils slightly. I lean over and put a hand on Marvel's shoulder, telling him silently, _don't you dare sleep with her tonight._

On that happy note, a Peacekeeper shouts, "Listen up, tributes! Form a line here," (he gestures to an imaginary, soon-to-be-created line,) "girl, boy, girl, boy, starting with District One all the way down to Twelve. Then shut your cavernous mouths and wait until it is your turn on stage."

Instantly, we all file into line. I am behind Marvel and in front of Cato, and whisper a quiet 'you'll do great, Marbles' because it doesn't make any sense for Careers to wish each other good luck. Luck doesn't exist. _Skill_ is what exists.

"Glimmer's a whore?" He asks me, petrified.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"I'm a dumbass."

"No, you're just a little ignorant, not to mention full of the marbles, Marbles," I joke.

He gives me a half smile and turns back to face Glimmer's platinum blonde head.

Then Cato taps me on the shoulder, and I whip around. "What do _you_ want?"

"I get it now. You're… you're jealous?" He says it as a question. "Or do you want to protect me from Glim? Because obviously the problem you have with me has _something _to do with her."

I freeze, staring at Cato's sapphire eyes and thinking, _how does he know? How does he know?_

Crap.

God, all I want to do is stroke his hair and kiss him on the lips, full force. I've never kissed a boy. Never have run my fingers through anyone's hair. _What in the world has gotten into me? Is this some sort of disease?_ But then I think of how he knows Glimmer's a whore and still puts up with all this shit, and my feelings vanish.

All I do is cross my arms, saying nothing.

"So that's it, you're jealous."

"And your meaning for asking me is…?"

"I haven't done anything wrong. You know it!"

"Of course. My old best friend just decided to make out with Glimmer a couple times, then lied to me, then called me ignorant and _a kid_ behind my fucking back—not to mention probably loads of other shit, and you haven't done _anything_ wrong?" I resist the urge to stomp on his foot with my three-inch topaz heel, but it would probably snap the shoe, so I refrain from it.

He looks at me, shocked. "You—you—"

"Move it!" A Peacekeeper interrupts Cato (thank God) and Glimmer takes a confident step forward, waiting for a few Avoxes to open up the cherry wood door for her before she enters the stage, Marvel following after her. I take a few steps to the door, and, at the entrance, take one more step.

The floor of the stage is slick, and the moment my heel touches the polished flooring my foot slips out from under me.

I let out a small squeal of fright as I fall backwards, bracing myself for impact on the ground—but then strong hands clench down on my shoulders and lift me upright.

Looking behind me, flummoxed, I take a glance at whom the hands belong to. Cato. Obviously.

Before I can say anything he shoves me forward lightly, and I realize that Glimmer and Marvel have already taken their seats on the other side of the stage and kids are packed behind us wondering what the holdup is.

Blushing, I trot across the stage, trying not to loose my footing, all while staring into the blinking lights shown ahead of is. My eyes adjust soon, to find thousands of lively people cheering and shouting and squawking like a bunch of multicolored chickens. I keep my eyes from turning to the ceiling as I take a seat next to Marvel, but also feel a wave of nervous energy roll across me. _So many people. _

As soon as the last people have taken their seats—(Fire Girl and Lover Boy, of course—Katniss's costume is a deep red that earns her a glowering look from myself, because, red is _my_ color!)—Caesar, who sits a couple yards in front of us in one of two easy chairs, booms to the crowd. "HAPPY HUNGER GAMES!" Caesar shouts, smiling his award-winning smile and letting his eyebrows rise to take over his entire expression. I do think crimson was a better color for him. He looked so much more treacherous last year!

Caesar jokes around a bit for the audience, and then finally announces Glimmer to the stage.

Glimmer prances up to the other white easy chair and sits in it like she owns the place, hands clasped in her lap and one leg thrown carelessly over the other. I'm surprised she's not acting embarrassed at all in the see-through dress—but that's Glimmer for you.

"So, Glimmer. Are you prepared for this year's Hunger Games?"

"Yes, Caesar, I am _very_ prepared," she replies, giving the crowd a mysterious wink which riles them up. I wonder how long Glimmer and her mentor—I think Cashmere—took to practice this. Most likely not long.

"I'm sure you are. With a training score of nine, there's no doubt you will have a high chance at surviving the arena," Caesar smiles at the crowd.

"Of course!" Glimmer gushes. "All I need now are sponsors!"

"With such an erotic dress I'm sure you'll earn the attention of some of the folks in here. You have definitely earned mine," Caesar replies. I attempt to not gag.

"Ohh, thank you, Caesar," Glimmer bats her eyelashes. "I love the dress, also. It's so… _me._"

Of course, Glimmer. It's so _you._ I let my disgust show through—who cares if the cameras are on me right now?—and block out the sound of her too-cheery, bubbly, and seductive voice.

Finally, after what seems like years but is only a mere few minutes, Caesar and Glimmer stand up and Caesar says, "Give a round of applause for Glimmer Rae of District 2!"

Glimmer struts back to her seat as several drunken hoots from Capitol males drown out the polite ovation from multiple women.

"Now, Marvel—Marvel Blithe!"

I give him a weak smile as he stands up, but everything is in a blur. _After this I'm up in front of all of Panem. Oh, God. Oh, God, help me._

As much as I would love to listen to his joking, loveable voice, I'm too worried and excited for my interview that I don't realize I've tuned everything out before I hear a distant voice calling my name.

"You've seen her at the opening ceremonies as a gladiator princess—but what does she have for us today? From District Two, Clove Saber!"

I stand up from my seat so fast I almost fall over, right myself, and walk up to the white easy chairs, heels clicking against the wooden flooring. I sit down in the chair, back straight as a rod, and wait for Caesar to start.

"So Clove… Clove, Clove, Clove… you look absolutely fabulous. Are you liking your stylist?" Caesar gives me a reassuring smile and I turn to the audience.

"I like Ivor well enough. He made me look like this, didn't he?" I gesture to my orange ruffled dress, using my well-rehearsed lines.

"Yes, of course. The color seems to match you well." Exactly what Evilian and I had anticipated he'd say.

"Not as much as red."

"Red?"

"Yes, red. Any red. The red of blood, the red of a clove flower—the red of your hair last year," I laugh.

Caesar chuckles too. "You like crimson on me?"

"Of course!"

"You're flattering me. But, let's strike a deal. If you win the Hunger Games, I wear my hair a different shade of red next year in your honor."

He'd really do that? I'm truly touched. "Why, thank you, Caesar. But you're incorrect. You said, _if_ I win the Hunger Games. It will not be a matter of if, it will be a matter of when." This is where my arrogance kicks in.

"We love your confidence," Caesar says, speaking for the crowd as well. I look out over them to see them all intrigued with my performance. I smile. "And with that Ten for a score—yes! A ten!—I'm sure you'll have a great chance of winning these Games. Will you tell us more about your private sessions?"

_Finally._ "A great chance? A _fantastic_ chance. I'm going to win this thing, one knife at a time."

Caesar turns to the audience, whom are all leaning out of their seats. "Knives," he muses. "Tell us more about them." The crowd all draws in a tremendous breath, and then hold it.

"I cannot," I say, because, obviously, I can't. There is disappointed muttering coming from the thousands of people seated in front of me.

Then Caesar changes the topic completely. "Do you have anyone waiting for you at home? Parents? Friends? Boyfriend? A stunning girl like you should have a boyfriend."

I shake my head no. "Nobody left."

"What do you mean, nobody left?" There is more leaning in from the audience as Caesar eggs me on.

"There is nobody left because there is nobody left. Parents: dead. Friends: I have very little. Boyfriend: Nonexistant," I mutter. "But I don't care if I return home without anyone. I will return a Victor. And that's all that matters."

Caesar checks his watch, and stands up. It's only been three minutes? No fucking way! I get to my feet as well.

"Well, we wish you the very best of luck. Clove Saber, everyone!" There are cheers from the crowd, but I don't move.

"No," I say.

"What?" Caesar looks confused.

"No. Don't call me Clove. Call me… call me Knife Girl. And you'll soon see why."

Caesar raises his eyebrows and then corrects himself to the crowd. "Well then. Knife Girl from District Two!"

Pleased with my performance, I turn to my seat.

I catch Cato's eyes and he gives me one long, electrifying stare that says, _nobody left?_

And I give him another stare right back, replying with my eyes. _Nope. And not you either._

**Longest chapter yet… :D**

**The Interviews take forever to write. I promise to update soon.**

**ALMOST 4,000 words… yeesh. That's a lot for me. :d **

**Please review!**

**Happy reading,**

**Ibbonray :D**


	24. Interviews Part ll

"Cato Hadley!" Caesar calls, and Cato stands up, rearranging his face into a determined scowl.

My used-to-be-best friend sits next to Caesar in a formal, soldier like manner, although one black shoe clad foot is flung carelessly over his other knee.

"So, Cato… is the Capitol meeting your expectations?"

"Of course."

"Good, good… may I ask what your favorite thing about the Capitol is?" Caesar taps his chin, expectantly.

Almost instantly, Cato replies. "The Training Center."

"And why is that?"

Cato puts on a murderous stare that makes even me shiver the slightest. "It is the only place here that I can fight."

"Oh? Are you ready for the Games, then?" Caesar looks out to the crowd as Cato smirks.

"Ready? I am more than ready, Caesar. I was _born_ to be ready. And I will kill every tribute sitting in this room if that's what I have to do to win."

_He'd kill me?_ I clench my fists so that my fingernails cut the flesh of my palms. Maybe we're not on good terms now, but I know I would never be able to kill him—but will he be able too? Run me through with his sword, choke me to death, spear me a thousand times in the stomach and not even feel a bit of remorse?

There are so many ways Cato could kill me. I ponder the weapons he is capable of using, the hundreds of techniques he knows to cause death with his own bare hands.

They talk for a while, Caesar and Cato, my district partner playing up the role of ruthless killer—until his time is up. Then District Three drifts up and I don't pay any attention because they are the most pathetic excuses of tributes I've ever seen.

After Circuit and the boy from District 3, (his name is Gear), comes Marina. She steps up to the stage and is overly polite—a trait that I'm sure Finnick Odair thought perfect for her, but doesn't match Marina's style at all.

Caesar tells her that she looks spectacular and I silently agree with him.

"Oh," Marina blushes. "I just love my stylist. Jemma is an remarkable designer and my dress is gorgeous."

"She is bound to get you many sponsors, isn't that right?" Caesar addresses the audience.

Marina's face turns even redder. "I'm not so sure. There are plenty of other women on stage with us tonight that look beautiful. But I'm positive that in the arena, I won't be entirely dependant upon sponsors—I mean, us in the Career alliance will practically own the Cornucopia, won't we?"

This draws some curious mutters from the crowd. The fact that an alliance has been formed fascinates them, gets them even more hyped up for the Games. For Marina, talking about our plans is a dangerous card to play, but will earn her a few more supporters.

And the rest of our alliance. Can't forget that.

After Marina is Krill. He tries to be cocky and arrogant, but his small height and boyish face detract from his angle. Although the boy got a seven, I'm starting to realize that preventing him from joining the alliance is benefiting us as the days wear on.

Then it's the ginger, Finch—right?

It's simple to figure out her angle. Sly, elusive, clever, mysterious; that's Finch, through and through. Her dress contrasts her bright red hair and her hazel eyes dart back, and forth, looking for an escape, almost. Like if you gave the ginger a second to flee, she would be out of here before you could blink.

"So, Finch, do you have any tactics about the upcoming Games you would like to share with us?" Caesar asks.

"Intelligence is everything. If you know where to run, if you know where to hide, if you know how to trick and deceive, you will survive. That is how I've survived all my life. And that is how I will survive now," she replies.

Finch might not be much, but the cleverer our enemies the worse—hopefully somebody will kill her in the bloodbath.

After Foxface, the tributes get boring. You can tell that every single word someone says is just an attempt to be polite, or mysterious, or arrogant, or funny, or cocky, or sweet, or sexy, or vicious, or quiet, or cunning, or whatever the hell their angle is. And it's completely idiotic how many people fail at their interviews.

After the quiet boy from Ten, I perk up. Here comes little Rue. She should have something interesting to say—or, maybe I'm mistaken.

Rue's outfit is a light brown gossamer gown that makes her look like a fairy princess—complete with wings. I hate it. Is her stylist insane? First overalls for the opening ceremonies, then a pixie… I can't believe how she can deal with this silly little girl's clothing.

But Caesar and the crowd love it. There is a hush of awe as Rue takes a tentative seat.

"Rue. What a pretty name."

"I've heard it means regret," Rue says quietly.

"Regret? And why would your parents name you that?" Asks Caesar.

Rue just shrugs, but I can tell she's holding the truth back.

"Now, let's talk about training. A seven! What an excellent score for the smallest tribute in this year's Games."

"Thank you, Caesar. I do try to shine," Rue says wistfully, and I roll my eyes. How easy it must be for her to pretend she is the fragile little girl from Eleven. I'm sure she has hidden talents that nobody knows, except for possibly her family.

"Of course, of course! The seven is leaving us all curious. What do you think your greatest strength in the arena will be?"

This question is a first for the night. Often Caesar repeats questions more than once to show contrast between tributes. He tries to make it easy for the crowd to make their decisions while providing a great show. I admire that about him.

"I'm very hard to catch," she says quickly, without hesitation. "And if they can't catch me, they can't kill me. So don't count me out."

Caesar smiles at her and says encouragingly, "I wouldn't in a million years."

Then she flutters back to her seat next to the boy from Ten, while the man from District 11, Thresh, takes her place.

"Thresh! So good to meet you. How are you liking the Capitol?"

"Okay."

"You like your floor?"

"Yes."

"And your stylist? Escort? Mentors?"

Thresh remains silent. I narrow my eyes at the black of that dark, close-shaven head of his. Sullen and hostile. Yes, that must be his angle. If so, Caesar is going to have a hard time of it.

Caesar lets out an exasperated sigh. "So. Training. A ten. Very impressive, but predictable for a boy with the size of yourself."

"No."

"What?"

"No, not predictable always," Thresh says, clenching his fists as if remembering something devastating while wondering if he should say anything else on the matter.

Caesar continues with the mostly un-answered questions for a while, and then gives up—but the crowd of Capitol men and women love Thresh. When Caesar dismisses him, he gets a thousand cheers.

"Next, you know her—the GIRL ON FIRE!" Caesar yells as if the mass of people wouldn't be able to hear him otherwise, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

"Or, better known as the lovely KATNISS EVERDEEN!"

The girl in the tight red dress at the end of the line stands, and makes her way to the white easy chair. There is a vacant expression on her face as Caesar says, "So, Katniss, the Capitol must be quite a change from District Twelve. What's impressed you most since you arrived here?"

Fire Girl gapes at him a moment, and I snicker, watching her as she processes the words. Then she replies. "The lamb stew."

Lamb stew? How basic. But it draws some laughs from the audience and I bite the inside of my cheek harder in fury.

"The one with the dried plums?" Caesars asks, and then they continue on with their foolish banter. Katniss Everdeen seems so shallow and dense I can't believe she even managed an eleven in Training. What a superficial bitch!

Then she stands up and twirls for Caesar, making me want to throw up my brief luncheon.

Finally, Fire Girl says something worthwhile… with an forceful gaze, she tells the crowd that she swore to her sister that she would win. Well, too bad for this _Primrose._ The girl will never see her sister again, won't even recognize her dead body when I'm through with the _lovely, beautiful, blah blah blah _Katniss Everdeen.

Everdeen. Sounds like evergreen. And what do clove flowers grow on? Evergreen trees. How incorrect.

My eyes are drifting close when Lover Boy walks up. Apparently he's from a family of bakers. And his name? Pita. Or Peeta. The names District 12 gives their children are even more ridiculous than Marvel and Glimmer's names!

Then they talk about the showers. And Lover Boy (this nickname sounds much better than Pita!) asks if he smells like roses. Ludicrous! Who _are_ these damn people? And to think that Lover Boy got the score of a typical Career. I shudder.

"Peeta. Peeta, Peeta, Peeta. Do you, or do you not, have a girlfriend back home?"

Lover Boy shakes his head unconvincingly. Lie. He has a girlfriend but he won't admit it.

Or maybe…

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" encourages Caesar.

Or maybe… he doesn't… but…

After a huge, lovesick sigh, Lover Boy says, "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

Precisely. Big crush. That's what I thought—idiotic!

The throng of people not on stage sigh with sympathy as Caesar asks, "She have another fellow?"

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," Lover Boy says.

"So here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" Caesar acts like it is the most genius solution in the world.

But little does he know…

"I don't think it's going to work out. Winning… won't help in my case."

"Why ever not?"

That Lover Boy has a crush on…

Pita/Peeta blushes and replies, "Because… because… she came here with me."

Katniss Everdeen. He loves Fire Girl. I knew it.

God, I am screwed.

Because although I can't stand Cato any more, although we're no longer friends, I can't help but feel things for him that I feel with nobody else. And there was this hope inside me—hope that maybe we could both exit the arena alive.

Clove and Cato. Cato and Clove. We would be the star-crossed lovers from District Two if not for Glimmer and not for _them._

Damn you, District Twelve.

We are screwed.

_No._

My life is screwed.

Because only one of us is coming out alive.

And although he's a jerk, it's going to be Cato Hadley.

**Hello, everyone!**

**Just want to say—when I was coming up with names, I got to Cato's last name, and was completely stumped. So I just put Hadley because I heard that was a popular last name for him. Let's just say… I dislike it. But whatever…. |:/**

**Another thing is that: If you have read my other story, **_**Innovation**_**, I apologize for how long it has taken me to update. I'm thinking about deleting it and republishing it again when I've completed more than 3 chapters. Please PM me on the matter. Should I or should I not delete it?**

**I apologize for all the cursing. It only makes sense for the of**

**Next chapter shall come soon. Get ready for awesome CLATO! *****YAY!* I know you are probably all grumbling in your seats, thinking **_**why is she making us wait ANOTHER chapter for Clato? **_**Well, maybe I like making you wait. Mwahahahaha. Just kidding, fillers are important.**

**Next chapter will have everything you've been waiting for. He he.**

**Best regards,**

**Ibbonray :D**


	25. Yes, Really

"_Clove._"

I pick at my food, not even glancing at Evilian. When choosing my dinner, I used Fire Girl's recommendation to pick out the lamb stew with dried plums. Almost hoping it was gross, I took a big bite. To my disappointment, the stew was delicious, and now I've lost my meager appetite.

"CLOVE! I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS CRAP! WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?" Evilian yells, and bangs her hand on the mahogany table, making plates shatter and break, and numerous glass cups tip over.

I hold still and say nothing. The realization has just recently hit me. _I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die, to die, to die._ It's almost like a little song, chanting itself through my mind. _To die to die to die, I'm gooooing to diiiiie._

Clove Saber wasn't meant to die.

But I am. I _am_ going to die in the Hunger Games.

_Think about it. I set off to be a victor, but the odds aren't in my favor._

Why am I going to die? Because I will give everything to save my old best friend.

I feel strong hands on my shoulders, shaking me back and forth, but I am numb. Vaguely, I hear somebody shout in my ear, "TELL ME WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOU, LITTLE GIRL, OR YOU'RE GOING TO YOUR ROOM!"

My room? It would be a welcome change. My gaze turns up to see Amber, Ben, and Cato's frozen awestruck faces as Evilian slaps me one more time and then drags me off to my room.

After depositing me on my bed, she backs out the door, saying, "Get your act together. The Games are tomorrow. I can't have a tribute who's in the midst of a mental breakdown." Then she disappears, locking the door behind her, and although I could exit the room if I wanted to, I don't feel like it.

Funny, I don't feel like anything.

My hand automatically reaches up to my neck, searching for something that feels like home—but no, my necklace is not there. Then I remember Ivor taking it for the Gamemakers to observe. _What if they remove the cloves and put fresh ones in? Genetically modified ones in? Please no. Please, please no._

The fresh clothes, which I flung on after removing my dress, are still clean enough to sleep in, so I reach over and turn off the lamp located on my bedside table, and snuggle down into the fluffy covers, dark hair spilling over the side of my pillow as I gaze into the depths of the screen on my wall, which presents the picture of Ghostlium.

If I'm still enough I can almost hear the rustling of the scarce leaves it has, and distant voices of people at the park—no. That's only my mentors, escort, and Cato talking. Straining my ears, I make out some small talk and then Cato says, "I'm going to go talk to her, if you would excuse me."

Talk to her. _Her?_ I freeze. _What, is he going to ask me to die for him? I'm already planning on doing that._

I draw the covers all the way up over my head and hide in the darkness as I the click of a lock and the opening of a door sound outside of my little cocoon.

"Little Clovie," he says. "Clove, don't hide."

There's a choked sound coming out of my throat and I swallow the lump that has grown there. Oh, God, I miss him. Miss him so much that I can't stand it.

"Clove," Cato says, and I feel the bed springs strain under his weight as he sits on the bed. "I'm sorry."

_Sorry. Screwed. Going to die for him. Ignorant. A kid. Jealousy. Cato and Clove. Clove and Cato. Sorry, sorry, sorry._

"SORRY?" I yell, and pop up from underneath the covers, eyes probably as wild as a million tracker jackers preying on a weak human. "You're SORRY? You kiss Glimmer and call me things behind my back and I decide I'm going to sacrifice my life for you and all you can come up with is _SORRY?_"

Whoops. The sacrifice part wasn't supposed to slip out. Oh well, can't take it back. Rage engulfs me and I throw a pillow at Cato, a weak attempt to get back at him for everything that has happened these last few days.

"I—I—you'd do that for me?" Cato whispers, grabbing the pillow in mid air and placing it on the bed.

"You _used_ to be my best friend, you know!"

Cato scoots closer to me, and I back away onto the corner of my bed. "I've been a crappy friend, you're right," he says. "And I wish I could take it all back."

"Well that's not going to happen, and sorry won't fucking help in this case!" I shriek, and let tears pour down my face for the fourth time this week. Wow. Must be my personal record.

Cato runs his hand through his spiky blonde hair and stares into my eyes. The blue is intoxicating, almost hypnotizing, but I look away and swipe at the salty liquid leaking from my gray-green eyes.

"Then I won't say sorry," his voice cracks, and I look up one more time to see him jumping the span of the bed and tackling me down. And then his lips meet mine.

The shocking electricity of it all makes me freeze in my position. His body is on top of mine, practically crushing me, and his arms move from my shoulders to around my waist as he kisses me over and over again. Cato's body heat instantly warms me to my bones. His lips pull at mine as if he needs me more than anything else in the world.

Soon I find my body reacting to his kisses, and my lips move at their own accord—my body rolling on top of his and my eyes closed, while my hands stroke that beautiful blonde hair of his.

Finally I pull away, eyes flying open, and I say, "We shouldn't be doing this."

"Why not?" He breathes, sapphire eyes taking in my face before his head moves to my neck and he plants a kiss near my collarbone, biting it so that it will definitely leave a bruise—and it feels so good. I moan softly.

"Because I hate you," I whisper as he bites a little further up. Cato's heat is enthralling, and I want to be close to him forever and ever.

"No, you don't. I've been a jerk," he murmurs, and places a couple more kisses on my neck before nibbling my earlobe.

"You have been," I laugh, and all of the sudden, I forgive him. Forgive him for Glimmer, forgive him for—everything. I don't even care if it's the death of me. Now I know why girls giggle about boys, why all the blonde bimbos he dragged along with him clung to him like puppies; because if this is love, love is the best feeling in the world.

Cato strokes my hair and kisses me on the forehead, behind my ears, the curve of my chin, the tip of my nose and again my lips. He doesn't relent, and neither do I. His kisses are needy and my lips sting from the force, but it feels so good that I don't care. I just return the treatment and run my hands up his shirt, ripping it off him and scratching him with my fingernails, not getting enough of his muscles and skin that radiates heat… so much heat…

Finally, when it's so hot I can't bear it, I roll off of him, hair disheveled and eyes wide. Cato's face and bare chest shine with sweat and he looks at me with wonder.

"Amazing," he mouths.

I roll my eyes, snarky attitude back on track from before the Election. "As amazing as you want."

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"I didn't."

"I thought you and Enther—"

"No!" I yell, thanking God that my room has soundproof walls. Enther, my old boyfriend, and I never, ever, _ever_ made out like this. We were friends, and I just decided to take it to another level. Stupid of me.

"I see," Cato says, and then sits up on my bed. "Do you want me to explain these last few days?"

I roll my eyes again and sit down on the bed next to him, and lay my head in his lap like I did three days ago. "Tell me."

He strokes my hair and says, "Ben told me I had to pretend that I loved Glimmer. For sponsors. She has so many it's not even funny. Plan was that she would share money with me. I had to lie to her about you, had to kiss her—and Clove, every time I kissed her I hated it. I had to pretend Glimmer was you. And you are so much better."

I nod slightly. "So—"

"We have to pull the act in the Games, too," he scowls. "At least, until she dies. I hate this, Clove. I hate it. I've been working up the nerve for two years to—"

"To what?"

He doesn't answer and just wraps his arms around me, pulling the covers around us. I curl up next to his warm, masculine figure and he kisses me forcefully one more time on the lips, then on the forehead, and then finally rests his chin on my hair.

About an hour later, when I think he's asleep, he puts his mouth against my ear and whispers so softly that I'm not sure he even said it, "I love you, Clove."

"Really?" I turn to face the direction in which his voice comes from, and catch sight of his piercing blue eyes in the midst of the darkness of my room.

"Yes, really."

And then I fall asleep with his lips against mine. My mind thinks of happy thoughts—myself standing in the middle of a strawberry field, a table of knives next to me, and I pinpoint each ripened berry and throw the blades. Then a bird flies out of the trees on the right side of the patch and flies over my head. It is a mockingjay.

In its beak it carries a rock the size of a loaf of bread, and I laugh. How stupid it must be to think it can eat a rock. I throw my last knife and kill the bird in mid-air, chuckling throughout.

I watch the bird squawk and drop to rock, right after it falls itself. My eyes follow the dead carcass speeding through the air, and then they dart back up again to see where the rock went, just in time to see the loaf-sized object come in contact with my head, making me black out.

In the midst of my nightmare, all I can do is tell myself, _It's only a dream, it's only a dream._

Only a dream.

**Clove doesn't know how wrong she is about the dream.**

**HE HE! CLATO! I hope it's not too graphic for those of you who don't like fluff. **

**Yes, I know, it's weird that I would post two chapters in one day… but I really wanted to complete this part. CLATO CLATO CLATO! *****giggles uncontrollably***

**Should they say anything else to each other in this chapter? If you have an idea, PM me. :D**

**New follower/favoriter: Meganium-Connie. Thank you and everyone else who supports **_**The Gouge in the Table**_**!**

**Hope you LOVED it! **

**Yours truly,**

**Ibbonray! :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D **


	26. This Is It

I wake up to the sound of a slight cough.

My eyes flutter and the first thought that comes to mind is, _it's so warm._

Then, _why is it so warm?_

Another thought enters my mind. _The Hunger Games are TODAY._

"YES!" I shout, and jump up. Except, I can't jump up. I'm trapped.

Trapped by a warm figure lying on my bed, arms around me, snoring like mad. Snoring just like—yep, it's Cato.

Cato grumbles something unintelligible and yawns, stretching his arms above his head and freeing me from his grasp. "Whattimeisitwhy'dyouwakemeupClovie?" He says in an almost slurred tone, although I know that no alcohol is involved.

"The Games, Cato. WE'RE GOING INTO THE ARENA!" I yell like a little kid at her first ever birthday party. I hop up and dance around the room. This is what I've always been waiting for.

My best friend groans, leaps off the bed, and walks over to me, swiping at his eyes and trailing the bed covers with him.

"Clove," he says, and encases me in an awkward sort of hug, which is made less uncomfortable when he leans down and kisses me. It's a rough sort of kiss, as always, and I push myself into it, knowing this may be the last time… the last time we can be this way together.

"Ahem," someone coughs from behind us, and I freeze, turning around.

Ivor stands in the doorway, tapping his foot impatiently. My face automatically flushes as he looks at the two of us, the expression on his face torn between being amused and annoyed.

"How long have you been here?" Cato asks.

"Long enough."

"You woke me up," I remember.

"I should have let Ghana wake Cato up first," Ivor mutters, looking like he's decided to go with the annoyed face.

"He's not in his room," I point out.

"Exactly." Ivor stares me down, then strides into the room and takes my arm, dragging me out of my room.

"Hey!" I shout.

"Don't I get to give my friend a proper goodbye?" Says Cato, appearing in the doorway.

"You'll see her soon," Ivor says simply. "Now, say goodbye to your mentors. Then we have to get you to the hovercraft."

"Hovercraft?"

"You'll see," Ivor deadpans.

I roll my eyes as he takes me to the dining room, where Evilian, Ben, and Amber sit silent.

"So is this goodbye?" I ask.

"LC!" Amber looks up. "Oh, I'm going to miss you so much! You'll be back soon, I hope?"

"Sure, Ambs," I say, as she runs up and gives me a hug, yellow dress pressed against my night clothes. Then I come to the realization that Amber isn't so bad after all. I've gotten used to her bubbly nature, and her familiar voice calling out, 'LC! LC!' will be one of the very few things I'll miss about the Capitol.

I break off the hug and turn to Evilian. "You throw those knives, girl," she smirks.

"Any advice?"

"Don't step off your metal podium until the gong rings. The ground is mined until the 60 seconds are up… but of course, you know that."

Nodding, I say, "Have a fun time mentoring."

"Have a fun time killing." Then she gives me that smirk again. I just smirk back at her.

"Will do."

Lastly, I approach Ben who is woofing down a pastry. "Enjoy your breakfast," I laugh.

"Always."

I lean in and whisper to him, "Keep Cato alive for me." Ben is his mentor, anyway.

"Don't you hate Cato?" He mutters, confused.

"We had a talk and… okay, whatever, but I don't hate him anymore," I say, pulling away. "See you," I tell everyone cockily, then Ivor motions for me to follow him.

I am confused when Ivor marches me into the elevator and presses the button '12'. "That's Twelve's floor," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Exactly," he says coolly.

It's almost astounding that when I first met him, he was like a scared little kid. I remember shoving him up against the wall, scissors at his throat. My stylist was scared out of his wits, stuttering like mad. Then, all of the sudden, he collected himself and now I've earned a little respect for him. I suppose that Ivor knows it's his job to dress and prepare me right before the Games, and he has no other choice… my stylist just has to deal with Clove Saber.

Still confused, the elevator dings and Ivor leads me onto the floor that District 12 has walked on every day. Distantly, I hear the slurred voice of Fire Girl and Lover Boy's mentor—Haybitch, or whatever his name is—the same guy who makes Twelve's Elections entertaining each year. Cato told me that this year, he jumped off the stage in his drunken state… probably thought he was a mockingjay. (What a laugh.)

Ivor leads me down the hallway and just before we enter the dining room, (their floor is identical to mine and Cato's,) we take a sharp turn through a door that is practically invisible and I never noticed before. Behind it are stairs and finally, we reach a spacious, vegetated area that has got to be the roof of the Training Center building.

Potted plants lie everywhere, flowers blooming at random. There are no railings and I can see all of the Capitol and beyond.

"Aren't they worried about lower districts attempting suicide?" I gesture to the roof with an almost bored-like tone.

"Force field," Ivor mutters, and then is drowned out by the sound of something very large.

I look up to see a hovercraft above me, and I laugh in delight. This is proof! This is proof that I'm going into the Games!

A ladder is extended and I step on gladly, just to realize that I can't move. I struggle with moving my arms and legs as a woman with muscular arms pulls me up through the bottom of the hovercraft. I'm still frozen to the ladder when the woman says, "Don't move."

"Why?" I spit, struggling with my paralyzing bonds and manage to wiggle just a bit on the ladder.

"Your _tracker._"

"Of _course,_" I imitate her tone.

The woman comes at me with the syringe and jabs the needle into my arm. I smirk as I feel the sharp pinching of my tracker being inserted. Now the Gamemakers will know my every move. Now I can be broadcast to Panem.

The ladder releases me and is lowered down to pick up Ivor, and then an Avox leads us to a room in the hovercraft where food is set out in a long banquet.

My eyes light up and I run over to find, yes, pastries. Those pastries that Ben always ate and, to tell you the truth, I was slightly jealous.

"If you don't let me have one I'll kill you," I threaten Ivor.

"Eat them," he shrugs, and I pluck a raspberry tart from a tray. It is delicious. I haven't had something sweet to eat in months. Soon I go for some wild duck, which gives me an adequate amount of nutrition for the bloodbath ahead.

The bloodbath. I smirk. All those pathetic tributes that will die in the bloodbath are probably quaking in their seats right now, not able to eat a bite of food. We Careers know better.

After around half an hour, the windows blacken and soon we are ushered back down the ladder into a large tube protruding from the ground. Then we enter the maze of hallways and rooms and walk until we reach my Launch Room.

They say districts like Ten, Eleven, and Twelve call it the Stockyard. Seriously? Are they idiots? A stockyard is the place animals go before slaughter. As far as I can tell, each tribute has a Launch Room of their own—and it's only used once. They should be happy we're not all prepped in front of each other. Worthless idiots.

I shower one last time and take care of my teeth—knowing there won't be time to clean them in the arena. Then Ivor puts my hair up for me.

Looking in the mirror, I scowl at my hairdo. "It's very… unlike me," I say hesitantly.

"It's just like your regular ponytail."

"No it is NOT! For one thing, my regular ponytail doesn't have FOUR EXTRA HAIR BANDS IN IT!" I yell, rage building up. My hair is put up in a ponytail, yes, but whereas my regular ponytail is loose and can swing around my face, _this one_ has hair bands spaced equally apart all the way down, forming little bumps that look unflattering on me. This is not my style.

"It's different, but get used to it," Ivor says stubbornly. "I'm not going to redo your hair and it will get you more sponsors. You need to look your best!"

"_And my ponytail's not my best?_"

"No," he says with finality. I sigh and pull at my hair slightly, wishing I had Marina's hair. Hers is so shiny and black and perfect.

"Whatever."

Ivor then dresses me in yellowish-brown pants, a grass green blouse, a dark brown belt and a thin black jacket with a hood. "If I could predict anything, the weather will be pretty cold at times," Ivor muses, glancing at the jacket. "The material reflects body heat. Also, I know you're good with knives—no doubt you showed your skills to the Gamemakers, who will for sure add some sort of jacket with pockets for your knives to the mix at the Cornucopia. Make sure you grab that."

I nod slightly and pull on dark leather boots with a narrow rubber sole. These will be good for sprinting.

Then, Ivor pulls out my stone bottle from one of his pockets and I grab at it. "Hold up!" He says, dangling it away from my reach near his blood-red lips. I do wonder what Ivor's face really looks like—under all that bright white foundation and lipstick and dark makeup around the eyes, he still looks like a monster. I mean, if he had Enobaria's teeth, he'd be a true vampire.

"Give it!" I shout.

"I put it on you," he says in his Capitol accent.

I scowl and cross my arms as Ivor hooks the bottle around my neck. Once he's finished, I snatch it up and uncork it, taking a deep whiff of cloves. The Gamemakers didn't change it. The cloves are still there. And they smell of home.

But there's one thing wrong. My fingers run over the smooth surface but it's not smooth anymore.

I cork the bottle then turn it over to find _C.S. and C.H._ engraved in small print on the back.

Looking at the bottle, Ivor gives me a smirk. "I have my ways, Clove," he says almost superiorly.

"Your ways?" I say in disbelief, then feel the anger again. _Cinder_ gave me this bottle! Not Cato! _Cinder's_ initials should be engraved on here, not _Clove Saber and Cato Hadley_!

"You violated my personal property! WITHOUT MY PERMISSION!" I go on a rampage and run around the room probably like an idiot looking for knives. There are none. CURSE YOU WHOEVER CREATED THIS DAMN LAUNCH ROOM!

"How DARE you, you _asshole!_ You should never have—wait a second."

I rethink this. Yeah, it's true, I love Cato. And even though Cinder gave me this it would be nice to have a reminder of our love in case he… in case he… in case he dies.

"Sorry," I blush, regaining my usual voice. "Thanks.

Ivor laughs. He has a nice laugh, I notice. "I have a bipolar tribute this year."

"I AM NOT BIPOLAR!" My anger returns to me again.

"Exactly my point."

_"One minute," _says a calm, cool voice, and I jump into stance.

"No way, already?" I ask Ivor.

"Yes. Clothing fit? Anything you want to eat?"

I'm so hyped; I don't think I could eat if I wanted to. "A glass of water would be fine. I'm good."

Ivor retrieves a glass of water and I down it when the voice calls, _"Thirty seconds."_

I adjust my hair and check my appearance in the mirror located on the left wall of my Launch Room. I put on my I'm-About-To-Kill-You face and admire the viciousness of it.

"All ready?" Ivor asks.

"Ready as I ever will be," I growl.

_"Twenty seconds."_

"Good luck, Clove."

"Do not wish me luck. Wish me… good fighting."

"Good fighting, then," Ivor shifts his weight and stares at me, as if expecting a thank you for all the hard work he's done getting me sponsors.

_"Ten seconds." _I glance at the glass tube in the center wall, open and welcoming, and jog to it, hopping on the pedestal.

"If you want a thank you," I say, turning to Ivor and smiling, "you're not going to get one."

_"Five seconds, four, three, two, one, zero,"_ says the woman's voice, and then I watch Ivor mouth, "good bye," as the glass cylinder closes me off from the Capitol.

I feel the sensation of the tube traveling upwards and I place my hands on the glass, loving this. I'm going to be in the Games. I'm going to be in the Games. I'm going to kill in less than five minutes.

I'm going to be in the Hunger Games. I'm going to be victor.

_This is it._

**First off, everyone—I am SOOOOOOOOO sorry for the long delay. I found this filler chapter completely unmotivating. I finally finished it, but without Em74's engraving idea and the persistent reviews from everyone else, I would have completely abandoned the story because, well… I don't know, I just hated the idea of leading her into the catacombs, prepping her, blah blah blah blah blah.**

**Second off, everyone—CAN WE GET A HUNDRED REVIEWS? YES WE CAN! 100****th**** reviewer gets to choose what my next POV will be; Marvel, Cato, or Foxface?**

**Now, since it's been forever and I've lost track, here are all my favoriters:**

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**Wow, that's a lot of you. Get ready for an even longer list of followers!**

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**I still remember the ol' days when **_**The Gouge in the Table **_**had exactly 0 favorites, 0 follows, 0 reviews and 0 views. Ha ha, being with thirty followers is so exhilarating! **

**Okay, this is a long author's note, but you guys specialize in those. I'll try to update as soon as I can but I'm so busy right now it's almost funny. With track, tae kwon do, schoolwork, a play to memorize, achy muscles from so many sprints and hurdles, I have a big schedule. Don't worry, though, I can't wait for the games so I'll definitely update soon.**

**Review please! Was it good? Bad? Mediocre? TOTALLYAWESOMELYSUPERAMAZING? (Though I doubt it... this was only a filler chapter!) You guys are the best! Thank you Em74 for the idea! And please tell me if this is a good chapter because I think I didn't do very well… :b**

**Love you all! Thank you for waiting, and EVERYTHING! *****heart heart heart*******

**-Ibbonray :D :D :D**


	27. Bloodbath

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games _begin!_"

We only get one minute—the equivalent to sixty seconds. Sixty seconds to survey the area, spy the hopeful objects strewn around the Cornucopia, size up other tributes and to prepare ourselves for running. But we Careers don't run away. No, we run straight to our destinations and add to the chaos.

My pedestal has stopped rising and everything's dazzling, bright light, until it fades and I look around myself.

The arena itself is unlike District 2 in every way possible. An open stretch of hard-packed dirt surrounds the Cornucopia. On my far left and up a bit is some sort of steep slope leading down to fields of tall, golden grass. I automatically check that off as dangerous beyond belief—there's no way I'll enter there. Probably rattlesnakes, quicksand, creepy mutt-animals that will attack you… I shudder.

Stretching from my left to far behind me is an area of sparse pine trees that no doubt plenty of tributes will use to hide. Then, to my right and to the front, is a large, abundant lake. I wonder if this is the only source of water in the arena.

The arena is not as risky as some arenas have been in the past. I suppose they're saving all the tricks in the book for the arena next year—the Quarter Quell.

After examining the landscape, I turn to the tributes surrounding me. Marvel is on my left, and Marina is on my right. Marina's hair is put up in a practical ponytail, and I mutter curse words to myself as I touch my ridiculous… I don't even know what to call it.

Glimmer is at the far left, next to little Rue and the boy from 3… isn't Gear his name? A little closer to me, Cato stands, and he briefly makes eye contact with me, smirking and eyes wild.

I smirk back and study the rest of the tributes. My eyes eventually land on Ginger, who is three tributes away from me. Although she is scared like the rest, the way her gaze darts from one thing to the next, never holding her attention, is a little frightening. Almost as if she is coming up with a plan for the next few days to kill the rest of us. But that can't be—she never even touched a weapon in training.

The glance she gives me is calculating, but not cold—more like, unsure. I need to watch out for the girl from Five.

Then I fix my eyes on the girl next to her. There she is—the Bitch on Fire. She is staring at something in the Cornucopia without distraction. As far as I can tell, she hasn't looked anywhere else at all. I follow her gaze to see she is staring at none other than a silver bow and quiver of arrows.

I've watched Glimmer in training. The whore can handle a bow and arrow, but can't hit someone's heart for her life. These arrows aren't meant for her. These arrows are meant… for Katniss Everdeen.

_So THAT'S how she got the eleven in training. Her chosen weapon. Definitely wouldn't be my first choice… so, interesting._

I wonder what she showed the Gamemakers. Must have been pretty impressive.

The contents of the golden Cornucopia fall under my vision. There are swords and spears, axes and maces, clubs and sickles, and finally, the best of everything—knives. So, so, so many knives. And, tucked next to a rack full of blades is some sort of vest with at least twenty pockets in the insides for knives to be hidden.

I grin maniacally, and can't wait to slip the vest on. Because the vest is mine. _All mine._

_"Ten, nine, eight—"_ a voice calls out, and I get into stance, preparing myself to sprint to that vest. Food, water, backpacks—they don't matter. Most of them will be owned by us Careers after the bloodbath is complete. For now, fighting is all that matters.

_"Four, three, two—"_

I'm ready.

_"One."_

The gong rings out. I take off, sprinting toward the rack of knives near the vest. I'm a fast runner—one of the fastest in District 2. Faster than Cato, even; a quality that I can never help but brag about.

In no time, I reach the rack, to find that no one is here. Good. I throw on the vest and remove about a dozen knives from the rack, stuffing them in the black vest's pockets. For just a moment, I observe my newfound garment… slightly bulletproof, durable, and it can hold about twenty-four knives (which is more than enough). Then I pick up six more knives from the rack, holding them in my left hand, and stand up, whipping my head left and right, taking in the scene around me.

There's Marvel. He slashes the boy from Eight's throat with a sharp, curved knife, and then stabs the Eight repeatedly until he's dead. There's Glimmer. She pins the girl from Six onto the ground and stabs her in the chest, earning me a bit of respect for Pretty-Girl. There's Marina. She's glancing around nervously, probably looking for some sort of weapon—and then I remember she's good at knives and I've taken most of them.

"Marina!" I yell, and she turns to me. I toss her a serrated knife from my vest and she catches it, smiling at me. Then she disappears into the Cornucopia.

Cato punches the boy from Six in the face, knocking him out, and then turns to District 9, slicing his neck with a machete. I smile slightly, then put on my I'm-About-To-Kill-You face and search for a tribute that is going to die at my hands.

_There._ Two tributes are griping about an orange backpack. The boy, from Seven, by the looks of him, is welding an axe and is about to chop the girl's head off when I reach into my vest, pull out a knife, and flick my right hand, letting the knife impale him in the back.

For a second, time freezes. And then I'm pulled into a memory.

_"You can't throw a knife for all the money in the world," Cato taunted._

_ "Fuck off, Cato! Why are you taunting me like this?" I yelled, brandishing my knife at him. We were in training, the day after I told Cato I was dating Enther. And Cato was not taking it well. He wasted no time putting down my throwing skills and cursing Enther._

_ "It's fun, can't blame me," Cato said, murderously. "Plus, you're dating Mr. Asshole over there," he pointed behind him._

_ Enther was brandishing his mace and swinging it at a dummy. He was a good fighter—and Cato had no right to talk about him like that behind his back!_

_ "What, are you jealous, Cato?" I put a hand on my hip, twirling my knife around the fingers of my other hand. "Do you love me? You and Enther are good friends. What changed?"_

_ "Nothing changed," he growled. "Except for you."_

_ "Except for me? How have I changed, _friend_?"_

_ "You're a merciless, uncaring bitch, you whore," he narrowed his eyes. "I can't believe I really got to know you. To date a son-of-a-bitch like him, is low for you, Clove."_

_ "Really, Cato? You are the biggest ass I have ever set eyes on. Die, you fucking jerk," I said, and threw my knife at him._

_ But it never reached Cato. No, Cato stepped out of the way without even blinking. And the knife sailed through the air, landing—in Enther's back._

_ Cato called me a bitch, a whore, cursed my boyfriend—although Enther and I never really loved each other in the first place—provoked me, just so I could kill Enther._

_ And although I pretend it never happened, although I try to forget, this memory always comes back. I've tried to forgive but can't forget. And I know why he did it—Cato loved me. But even so, a little part of me still can't forgive him for that day._

_ The day I killed Enther._

Completely shaken, my eyes widen as I stare at the boy from Seven. I imagine him as Enther. The boy falls forward, just like Enther did. The boy coughs blood, just like Enther did. The boy dies in an instant—just like Enther did.

When I finally snap out of it, I realize I've missed a few precious seconds. The girl who the boy from Seven was about to kill scrambles up, hoisting the orange backpack on her shoulder. And finally I see her face—and the braid, that unmistakable side braid—it's Fire Girl.

I throw my next knife, intent on killing her, but I'm a second too late. The knife glides through the air but she lifts her pack up and the knife lodges in the side. _Goddamnit._ Before I can throw again, Katniss has already vanished into the woods.

Turning around, I try to spot my next kill, a little dazed, and target the girl from Ten. She's trying to flee with a dark backpack, and just as she thinks she's getting away, I throw two knives simultaneously at her back, thinking of Enther. But this is a girl with a narrow, wide-eyed face and dark hair. It's not Enther.

She falls to the floor and I jerk my head to the side. There's miss Short-Circuited from 3, fleeing with just a loaf of bread and a spool of… is that wire? I laugh and sprint up behind her, slitting her throat. I terrorized her, and now I have the benefit of killing her. Yes, Circuit, the pleasure is mine.

On a blood high, I spin around for more tributes. My daze is gone, my instincts are sharp. Ready to kill. I'm ready to kill more tributes.

I see that most of the fighting is going on nearer to the Cornucopia, and run over to find Marina pinned to the ground by the boy from Six, and one male corpse lying next to her—District 5. Then Cato comes out of nowhere, pulling Six off of Marina and impaling him through the stomach with some sort of sword—a Colanda, I think? I don't even have time to fear for Marina's life before she's safe again.

Then the girl from Seven runs by me—her hair style is the same as mine, surprise, surprise—and I take the chance. I tackle her to the ground but the way I hold her keeps me from reaching for my knives, so I call out Marvel's name and he races over to spear her in the stomach.

"Thanks," I say, breathlessly, and then someone screams.

"NOOO!" Marina cries, and I look over to see her eyes almost bulging out in fury. And she's looking at… Cato.

"_You killed him!_" She wails, and I glance at Cato, to see him standing over Krill, the boy from Four, with his Colanda sword in hand. And Krill is dead with a yellow tent held firmly in his pale hands.

I think about how much Krill meant to Marina. She said I wouldn't get it. I guess I'll never know exactly how much she cared about the little curly-haired kid—maybe Marina thought of Krill as the sibling she never had, or something. I don't know the connection. But I know that Marina is one to hold grudges on people.

Marina hysterically wails for a while, and I go over to her, sitting her down where she can't see Krill's corpse. I whisper in her ear, "I know he meant a lot to you, but you have to hold it together."

Tears pour down her face and she nods, and then her face hardens into a blank expression and she swipes at the salty liquid creeping from her eyes until it stops entirely.

I look away from Marina, as if giving her privacy so she can get her act together, and see, to our right, a girl peeking out from behind a crate. I think she's from District Nine.

Looking up, I see Glimmer, rummaging through a box of supplies. "Glimmer, get your ass over here!" I yell at her, hoping the girl won't get the hint. Glimmer looks at me, confused, and I roll my eyes at her stupidity. Don't get me wrong—I still hate her, but I can't kill Nine and comfort Marina at the same time.

"What?" She asks, approaching us.

I lean in to her as if to tell her a secret, and whisper, "District 9. Behind the crate. To our right. Kill her."

Glimmer nods once, then acts as if she's going over to the crate 9's behind just to check supplies. I watch triumphantly as Glimmer pulls a wicked-sharp sickle from her belt and jumps out at the girl from Nine, who shrieks. Then Glimmer proceeds to stab the girl to death.

The bloodbath is over. Dead bodies litter the ground around the Cornucopia. Marvel is bent over, wiping his spearhead on a patch of dry, brittle grass. Cato is examining the rack of swords. Glimmer squeals in delight as she picks up the silver bow and arrows, which Bitch on Fire never managed to get hold of, for some reason. Marina stands up, face devoid of emotion. She can hide her feelings so well I'm surprised she's not trained.

I stand up, too, then organize the knives in my vest, adding more to the mix. The blunt, serrated, and unsatisfying ones go far into the inside of my vest. The daintier numbers in the middle, and the most lethal are closest to my heart. I store extra knives in my boots, pants, the sleeves of my jacket, and one in my hair. Although, it isn't hidden by my hair—damn this idiotic style. I'll have to wait another day to have an excuse to take the rest of the hair bands out.

"How many kills, all of you?" I ask. "I got… two, maybe three. I'm not sure if the girl from Ten really was dead."

"Three," Cato mutters, choosing a sword from the rack. "Nine, Six, and Four. I'm completely unsatisfied."

"Three as well," Marvel smiles. "_I'm_ the one who got the girl from Ten, Marvel-Girl—your killing skills aren't as impressive as we thought," he jokes.

"MARBLES!" I shout, elbowing him in the ribs, making him wince.

"Two," Glimmer says proudly.

"Two tributes?" I say. "I alerted you of one. She would have been mine, if not for—"

"Shut up," Marvel says good-naturedly. "It doesn't matter how many tributes we killed—as long as we all killed _somebody._ What about you, Marina?"

"One," she says, as if bored. "District Five. He was pathetic. And I _would_ have killed more if Six hadn't pinned me down!"

"So you only killed one?" Cato says, taken aback by her sudden calmness after screeching like a madwoman about Krill.

"That's what I said," she says, viciously.

"So, eleven deaths," Glimmer says, as if finally figuring it out.

"Did it take you a full thirty seconds to figure that out?" I say sweetly.

"Maybe…?"

I roll my eyes and Marvel says, "Not bad for a bloodbath."

"Not bad," Cato agrees. "But I could have done much better."

"Who's left?" Asks Marina.

"Well," I say, "Us, then Gear from Three, Ginger from Five, the girl from… Eight? Let's see, both from Eleven, and both from Twelve, and then someone else. I can't recall…"

Nobody can recall who else is in the arena. I feel like I know, but the answer doesn't come to me. I shrug.

"Little Rue made it," Marvel points out.

"Never even saw her," says Marina. "Come to think of it, I didn't really see anyone else. The Finch girl slipped by— and I _did _see Thresh sprinting away with a pack but didn't really want to follow him. He's in the fields." She points to the sinister fields that I decided not to go through.

"Let's go," Cato barks to us. "We're hunting Thresh."

"But, _Cay Cay!"_ Glimmer whines. "I can't see through that grass and there might be boot acid that will creep through my boots and ruin my perfect pedicure!"

_Boot acid?_ _What the hell? _"Nobody cares about your damn pedicure. But we're not going in there," I say.

"Why not?" Marvel says. "Thresh scare you off?"

"Marbles, what do you fear most?" I completely change the subject.

"I... um… I don't know…" Marvel stutters, and I cross my arms.

"Then what is something that you hate?"

" I… uh… snakes?" Marvel says it like it's a question.

"There you go," I say. "Tall grasses equal rattlesnakes."

"Touché!" Marina says, and I smirk at her.

"Ah, screw it," Cato mutters.

Then, out of nowhere, comes a voice. "Screw what?"

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	28. Never-Ending Battle

My head whips around towards the sound of the voice. It's coming from the piney woods, but I cannot see who it is yet.

"Who is it?" Glimmer asks.

"How should I know?" I reply.

"You probably all hate me," says the unknown person. Let's see. It's a male, definitely. And only three… maybe four… males are left, besides us Careers. It's not Thresh, so this is District 3, District 12, or the other person that I can't seem to remember.

"If we hate you, why are you exposing yourself to us?" Marina walks toward the woods.

"If we hate you, you die," Cato says simply.

"I have a proposal." Says The Voice.

"And that is?" Asks Marvel.

"You don't kill me and add me as a part of your alliance, in exchange for information about my district partner."

He walks out of the woods, into the daylight.

It's Lover Boy.

As if on instinct, Cato sprints over and shoves him against the tree, hands around Pita's throat.

I take one look at Lover Boy, with his blonde locks and blue eyes. He looks almost like Cato, except not as muscular and as… vicious. His eyes shine the truth; he will give us information for a spot in the alliance.

I mull over everything I've learnt about him. The opening ceremonies… how himself and Katniss clasped hands, giving the audience a show. Training… how he picked up a hundred pound weight and threw it at a rack of spears, knocking half of them over. From a distance, I also saw that he painted his hand to match a tree trunk perfectly, and his talent with close-range knives. In private sessions he got a decent enough score; an eight. Lover Boy's interview was sickening but I did learn some valuable information. His baker past means he camouflages well with the environment, and that he lifts heavy sacks of flour on a daily basis… or else, that's what the baker in District 2 does. His love for his district partner is true.

That's the thing. Can we trust Pita Melart (or whatever his name is) to tell the truth? If I were in this position I would never give anything about Cato away. But maybe in Twelve it's different.

I know I want revenge. Katniss got an eleven. A _fucking eleven!_ Nobody gets higher than Ten! And for that, she deserves to die.

Lover Boy will aid us in her death.

"Cato!" I yell at him, and run over to pry him away. Shocked, Cato lets go, and I take his place. But now, I don't choke Pita, I hold a knife against his throat.

"Promise me," I hiss. "Promise me you won't lie."

"I… promise…" Breadie Boy says slowly, making sure the knife doesn't cut into his throat.

"And if you do, you and Bitch on Fire will die painful deaths," I purr, and push the knife into his neck slowly until it slightly breaks the skin of Lover Boy's neck. Satisfied, I turn around, throw my knife into the air, catch it, kiss the blade and place it carefully in my vest.

"He's in!" I tell the rest of them nonchalantly.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Marvel-Girl?"

"If he deceives us…"

"I HAD HIM!" Cato yells at me.

"Sorry, Cato. But he's useful."

"Can't be as useful as _me_," Glimmer says, taking offense.

"Whatever," I roll my eyes. "He's handy with a knife… can sort the supplies for us… and, he'll give us hints about Fire Girl. Three in one benefit. Can't miss the chance. And, if he ends up lying," I look pointedly at Cato, "you get to kill him."

Cato's eyes light up, "Sounds like a deal, Little Clovie."

"So, what do we do now?" Asks Pita, coming up behind us.

"You, Lover Boy, sort the supplies. Food goes in one pile. Water skins, iodine, and other liquid-related stuff in another. A pile of packs. And finally, a pile of weapons. Get to work," Cato barks, and we all smirk at Lover Boy.

"Actually, the name's Peeta," says Pita.

"Like the bread?" Glimmer says, twirling her hair around her finger. "That's soooooo cool!"

"As in, P-E-E-T-A Peeta."

"Whatever, Lover Boy," Marina says. "So, are we going to set up tents?"

"Yeah," I say. "I'll get started on the tents. Keep watch?"

"Damn," Marina mutters, then lights up. "Sure. Got any rope on you?"

"Probably some in the Cornucopia. Cato, Marbles!" I yell at them. They've wandered off into the Cornucopia, probably looking for anything good. Glimmer's off flirting with P-E-E-T-A, who is sorting supplies.

"What?" Marvel asks, stepping out of the golden tube-like structure.

"Tents," I reply.

"Night vision glasses," Cato also steps out of the Cornucopia with two pairs of glasses dangling from his fingers.

All of the sudden, Glimmer, who was batting her eyelashes at Lover Boy, whirls around, races toward us, and hangs off Cato's arm—batting her eyelashes the whole time. "One of the pairs is for me, right, Cay-Cay?" She whines.

"Actually," Cato says. "I'm keeping one, and Clove gets the other." He tosses one of the pairs to me, and I snatch it from the air, stuffing it in an extra vest pocket while grinning triumphantly at Glimmer.

"Thank you, _Cay-Cay,_" I tease Cato, and then go over to the Cornucopia and haul out the tents.

Then I see one of the tents tucked underneath Krill's pale arms, and I realize, _the cannons haven't sounded yet!_

Must be because we haven't thought to clear out yet.

"Guys?" I say. "We need to clear out so the cannons sound and the bodies are cleared out."

They all stare at me in surprise, as Breadie Boy continues to sort supplies. None of them realized that there were still corpses littering the ground—and I find that positively amusing.

"Clear out!" I bark, and then pull out a knife from my vest, racing into the mouth of the woods.

Everyone follows behind me, and just as we step off the hard-packed earth into the undergrowth, the first cannon booms.

As expected, there are 11 cannons. Once the loud _boom_s cease, a low rumbling in the distance grows until a hovercraft appears in the sky.

A claw descends down from the middle of the hovercraft, and picks up the first body—the boy from eight. His limp body hangs from the metal claw as the claw is lifted up into the hovercraft. This motion repeats ten times more, and each time the claw comes down again, empty and waiting to grab its next victim.

Then we return, and Cato, Marvel and I pull out the tents from the cornucopia. There are four, and we set them out in a semicircle, around a pit in the ground where we get wood for a fire; in case it's cold during nighttime.

Marina sits on a log she dragged from the woods, and her nimble fingers work around rope like she has been making nets her whole life. Maybe she has. Already, it's been half an hour and she's made three and a half nets. Marina is vital to our alliance with this skill she has.

When the last stake is stomped into the hard-packed earth and the last sleeping bag is placed inside, Marvel hollers to everyone to get over to the tent circle, saying we need to figure out sleeping arrangements.

Glimmer rushes over from her place next to P-E-E-T-A, who tosses a water skin into a growing pile and follows after her. He is making progress, but there is still a massive amount of weapons and other supplies stowed in the Cornucopia. Marina gathers up her nets (there's four now) and walks over to us, checking around her one last time for any straggling tributes.

"So guys," Marvel says. "Sleeping arrangements. There are only four tents… how should we do this?"

"CAY-CAY! You and I should sleep together! I could make it worth your while," says Glimmer, seductively. Her irritating voice makes me clench my fists and stare at Cato.

"Well I… um…" Cato says, and then glances at my fists. "How about we sleep by district?"

"So I sleep alone?" Says Marina, and for the first time ever, I see a scared look on her face. "I… I don't think—" she trails off, and I realize that she's wary of the nightmares about Krill that are sure to come.

"I'll share a tent with you, 'Rina," says Marvel. I wonder where he got the name Rina, and also wonder why he's not happy to share a tent with Glimmer. I thought he loved her. Confused, I shift from foot to foot.

"You would?" Asks Marina.

"BUT NOW I'M ALONE!" Glimmer wails.

"Sleep with Lover Boy, I'm sure he wouldn't mind," I say, sarcastically, and take note of his shocked expression at this.

"Why would I want to sleep with that vermin?" Glimmer shrieks.

P-E-E-T-A remains silent.

"Why were you flirting with him just a few minutes ago?" I retort.

"_Fine,_" Glimmer grumbles, and disappears into the tent closest to her. "Damn you Cato!" She says, voice muffled from the tent.

"We should get some rest," says Marina. "You know, if we're going to hunt tonight."

"I'll take first watch," agrees Marvel. We all nod and head to our tents.

Cato and I slip into the one on the far left. I jump into my sleeping bag, not bothering to take off my vest of knives.

"Isn't that dangerous?" Cato remarks. "To sleep with a knife in your hair?"

I smirk. "Worried about me much?" I take the knife from my hair and clutch it at my side. "There, happy?"

"Happy enough." Cato lies in his sleeping bag as well, turning to face me.

I cover my mouth with my sleeping bag, lean close to him, and whisper, "I thought you and Glimmer were having a relationship act or something."

"Screw the act, it's fucked up and I love you, Little Clovie," he whispers back, and I'm glad. Glad because he loves me, and glad because he's quitting the act.

But now we're on to a new act, one where we won't love each other.

I realize I've never told him I love him back. But that will wait for a special time. Who knows when that will be, because I'm going to sacrifice my life for him.

_No, I'll be victor. No, I'll sacrifice myself. Victor! Sacrifice! VICTOR! SACRIFICE!_

It's a never-ending battle as I fall into dreamless sleep.

**AN!**

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	29. The Gear Appearance

The sound of soft voices wakes me up around two hours later. I sigh and rub my eyes, kicking my legs out of my sleeping bag and clutching my knife to my side.

After a slight yawn, I take in my surroundings. It's still light out, judging by the sunlight streaming into the tent, but it's coming from the far west so evening is coming soon. Cato lies facedown next to me in his sleeping bag, snoring—(his snores are so loud I swear a tribute from a mile away can hear him!)—blonde hair swept to the side. I glance at him fondly, and then focus on the sound of the voices.

They are coming from the outside of the tent. Slowly, I open the flap of the tent—which is made of green canvas—and step out, silently, knife at my side.

The dusk is approaching and the air is chilly. I automatically thank God for the heat-radiating jacket. Marvel, who is supposed to be on duty, has lit a fire, which crackles pleasantly and illuminates his face and the face of the person next to him.

She sits on his right side on a stump. It's Marina.

There is a content silence and I shrink back against the tent, into the shadows, and watch them. What is Marina doing awake?

"You're sure you okay?" Marvel asks Marina.

"I… I guess," Marina replies. What are they talking about? I grip my knife tighter.

"What did he mean to you, 'Rina?" Are they talking about Krill?

"When… when we were kids," she says, and I brace myself for information. "Both our families were out on our boats, enjoying the sunset, like now. Both boats were returning home and my dad was laughing at something my mom said—I don't remember what—anyway, he wasn't paying attention and neither was Krill's father, and both boats collided head-on."

I suck in a breath. Did this… did this really happen?

"We were near the harbor, so we were rescued by the Rescue Ship Team, but not in time. Both of Krill's parents… and my father… died.

"So here Krill was, orphaned now, because my father and his weren't paying any attention. Anyway, out of pity, my mother adopted him. That's why—that's why we were really close, but didn't share the same last names. And now Krill's dead. I should have protected him. But Cato—Cato—I should have—"

"Shh," Marvel says, and I stand in shock. So that's what she meant by 'you wouldn't understand'. And now Marina probably will avenge Krill's death, in some minor way.

I put my hands over my eyes and push, trying to cure my raging headache. Cato killed Krill. He killed Krill. And I was the one who didn't let Krill in our alliance.

For Marina, I should have. Krill was practically her little brother.

And now Marina's seeking comfort in Marvel.

Removing my hands, I look out of the shadows again, ignoring Cato's constant snoring, to see a sight I never imagined once.

They're kissing.

Marvel and Marina.

They. Are. _Kissing._

Oh, no, not just kissing. I mean, passionately, hands-around-neck, one-on-top-of-the-other, leaning-against-wooden-stump kissing.

But I thought Marvel loved Glimmer…!

Turns out that his feelings changed.

Kissing, kissing, kissing… and, oh, this is the Games. THIS IS THE HUNGER GAMES. They can't be doing this. They will make the Careers weak! WEAK!

I'm about to jump away from the tent and screech profanities at them, when movement catches my eye further away. Someone is bending over the edge of the lake, probably filling his or her water skin. _Idiot._ Well, I guess, whoever they are, thought that with the person who is SUPPOSED to be on watch occupied, this was the perfect chance.

How wrong they are.

So instead of leaping out at Marina and Marvel, I sneak away from the tent, circling around them with soft treads, knife clutched in hand. Taking a quick look at the knife, I'm happy to say it's perfect for killing.

But I'm not going to throw this knife at this tribute's back. No, I am going to have a little fun beforehand.

When I'm about five meters away, I stop. It's a boy; a frail tribute… it's not Thresh, DEFINITELY not. So it must be either the cripple from Ten (_that's _whom we were forgetting when talking about the tributes left) or Gear from Three.

The boy corks his water bottle and stands up. That's when I lunge at him.

The boy—I realize it's District 3—freezes and I draw my knife up to his neck.

"Don't move," I whisper tantalizingly into his ear.

"But—but—I don't want to die!" He says pathetically.

"Give me one reason for not slitting your throat _right now,"_ I purr back.

"I—I—" he shifts under my tight grip, and I press my knife into his neck ever slightly. "THE MINES!" Gear shouts, probably drawing all sorts of attention to us.

I roll my eyes and say, confused, "the mines have nothing to do with this."

"No, no, let me go, I promise I won't run away… and I will explain!" He says.

"No," I reply. "You may explain at this moment, or else, I'll kill you."

"Icandiguptheminesandreburythemaroundthepilesoffoo dsoifatributetriestostealfoodfromyoutheywillgetblo wnup," explains Gear.

"Say again?" My knife punctures his flesh and he yelps.

"I can dig up the mines and rebury them around the piles of food so if a tribute tries to steal food from you they will get blown up."

The idea strikes me with surprising force. No one has ever used the mines around the pedestals for anything. Will this really work?

I retract the knife and twirl it around my fingers. "Welcome to the club, boy. If this doesn't work, we kill you. If you become useless to us Careers, we kill you. If you run away, we all guarantee you a painful death… worse than just a knife to the throat. Consider yourself lucky, kid."

District 3 looks relieved and I shove him in the direction of the tents with such force he almost trips.

"Get a move on, boy. What's your name again?" Of course, I know, but this is just a setup so I can taunt him further.

"It's Gear," he says confidently.

"Gear. Hmm. I'm Clove… or Knife Girl, you can call me. If you need any more introductions, just keep in mind I killed Miss Short-Circuited, or whatever her name was… District 3 girl, was it? Or maybe it was pathetic?"

Laughing quietly at the look of pure shock on his face, I sprint towards camp, shouting at Marvel and Marina, "hey, you two, stop making out! Cato, get up! Same with you, Glitter, Breadie Boy!"

Popping up from the stump, Marvel blushes furiously and Marina looks completely calm, until she sees the boy next to me.

"Who is _that?_" She says, and lunges at him, retrieving her machete from her belt and pressing it to his throat.

"Hold up," I raise my palm, signaling for her to stop. "Says he can replace the mines around everything from the Cornucopia, rig the mines to explode on impact again. Protect the supplies."

"Oh really?" Marvel says. "Then how do we get to our supplies, then, afterward?"

"Simple," speaks up Gear, seeming to cut his throat slightly again on the machete that Marina hold up, but he shows no pain. "I strategically space the mines so unsuspecting tributes will step on them, but we can create a pathway that will let you retrive food and whatnot."

"Hmm," Marvel grumbles, and Marina removes her machete.

"Clove," someone mutters my name from the entrance of a tent… Cato. "Whydidyouwakemeup? I was sleeping soundly and…"

In one fluid motion, Cato's eyes go wide and I snicker as he dives for his sword, which is leaning against our tent, and places the tip into the heart of Three.

"Cut it out, Cato," I say. "We're allies."

"And why is that?" He seeths. "Remember, he dumped that fucking glass of water all over me!"

"He's digging up the minds, placing them around the supplies, reactivating them so anyone except us explodes if they attempt to steal anything, blah blah blah, do I _really _have to explain this again?"

Cato thinks about this for a moment, and then drops his sword. "God, Clovie, you should have just killed him… even though this plan is pretty, ingenious, I guess. You, boy, get to work," he orders Gear. Gear nods and turns to the scattered supplies, some in piles created by P-E-E-T-A, some still scattered around the Cornucopia. I realize that Gear is making one large pile of supplies and nod approvingly as Glimmer and Lover Boy emerge from their tents.

Both are slightly shocked by the fact that Gear is now in our alliance, but get over it quickly. Glimmer, Lover Boy, Marvel, and Marina gather backpacks and important supplies from where Gear is working at and organize the packs, preparing for a long night of hunting.

Cato and I keep watch, sitting back to back.

He turns his head and whispers in my ear, "When he isn't useful anymore, can I have him?"

"Yes, yes," I smile. "You get District 3 and Lover Boy, if you let me have the Bitch on Fire."

Cato mumbles something unintelligible to himself but agrees finally. "Whatever."

"Oh, and Cato," I say, smile changing to smirk. "I forgot to say. May the odds be _ever_ in your favor."

**All my credit for the Marina story on Krill and her sibling-relationship-thing (even though they're not related) goes to Meganium-Connie, she helped me out with the idea not too long ago, and it's pretty great! (Although, Meganium-Connie, I had to switch it from car to boat, since I don't think there's any real cars in District 4.)**

**Okay, this wasn't the best. And I said I would post this weekend, but turns out, I had time today! **

**Like the Marvina? Kind of fluffy, but you realize why she liked Krill so much. If I would her I would totally go into a state of shock if I had an orphaned adopted brother that died in the Hunger Games. She is dealing with it well! In my opinion.**

**Marvel always seems to be the 'lean on me' friend, no?**

**I have a poll up on my profile asking if I should delete my fanfic 'Innovation'. Please check it out, only one person's voted on it and it's been up FOR. EVER. I DON'T KNOW WHO VOTED ON IT, BUT THANK YOU, WHOEVER YOU ARE!**

**Thank you, thank you, thank you, everyone. Remember, reviews to me are like cupcakes! If I get them, I go crazy hyper and devour them greedily! **

**Review and you get a thousand hugs from your favorite character!**

**Don't review and Gear will blow up your feet!**

**(Oh, sorry, got a little carried away there, it was sorta-blackmail, he won't blow up your feet, but I appreciate all the reviews.)**

**Annnnnnd now, for the new followers: Beatles4ever8, Imagine The Possibility, Jacqueline Rasky, SilentHeartClato, livelaughlove140, and lovepercabethalways. **

**Annnnnnd now, for the new favoriters: Beatles4Ever8, Imagine The Possibility, Jacqueline Rasky, SilentHeartClato, and lovepercabethalways.**

**And everyone else! If I have never, ever mentioned you in an AN, please review/PM. I'm sorry, there are just TOO MANY. *heart* XD XD XD XD XD**

**THANK YOU THANK YOU THAAAAAAANNNNNKKKKK YOU!**

**MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR!**

**I'M SORRY FOR HOW LONG THE AUTHOR'S NOTE IS!**

**FROM IBBONRAY… LOVE YOU ALL!**


	30. Follow The Footprints

"Tell me again," I say forcefully, punching Lover Boy so hard in the face he's sure to get a black eye. "What did Miss Little Bitch on Fire do to impress the Gamemakers? And don't lie this time."

I have been interrogating him for the past fifteen minutes while Marina works on her nets and the rest of the alliance continues to gather supplies for our nighttime hunting spree. First, I asked P-E-E-T-A about Katniss' home life, things she's good at, etcetera. And half the things he said were lies.

For example, I asked him, "What does she enjoy doing in her free time?"

Breadie Boy had glanced around nervously, and then said, "She loves to use axes. Katniss would go out with her father and chop tons of trees down."

"Isn't that a District 7 thing?" I had narrowed my eyes. He shrugged, and I followed up with, "Liar. She obviously shoots a bow and arrow. That body type is not one to wield axes."

That untruth was punished with a cut across his cheek.

"Okay, fine," P-E-E-T-A sighs, nursing his already swollen eye. "She used her bow, did some fancy shooting. Think she hit the lights on the ceiling, created sparks or something. Oh yeah, and something about expressing her love to me…?"

I tilt my head. Something about his face shows the truth in this statement, but the rest shows defiance. I decide to let it slide, this once. "And who did you say were people she wanted as allies?"

"Uh… the girl from 3 and the cripple. Have no idea why."

We've been taught at the Training Center back in Two to detect lies, and this is obviously one. "Hypocrite. Give me a genuine answer!"

"Fine, fine! She wanted to ally with—"

Somebody interrupts him. "All ready to go?"

I shake my head no at Marvel, glance at Lover Boy, uppercut him in the chin, and then reply, "now I am."

Marvel laughs, and helps me up from my seat on the log. "We're on our way… sun's almost down," he points at the horizon. Then we head in the direction of the others, Lover Boy trailing behind.

When we approach, Marina tosses me a pack. I grab it before it reaches the ground and zip it open, peeking inside to examine the contents. Matches, extra knives (ha, as though I wound run out… yeah, _right,_) a sleeping bag, wire, a full water bottle, beef strips, a loaf of bread, some dried fruit… the essentials. I notice I don't have a flashlight or anything and am about to point this out until I remember the night vision glasses in my vest pocket. I slip them on just as the sun goes down, and can see everything so clearly I do a double take.

"Whoa," I mutter. Surprisingly, I've never put a pair on… odd, what with my father having a couple lying around the house. We are rich—_were_ rich—and so we had things like that. Guess the glasses just never caught my attention.

Torches are lit, flashlights clicked on, Gear is left behind to defend the camp until we're back (when he will work on digging up the mines), and we're off. Cato's sword is hanging from his belt, but his hand grips the hilt tightly. Marvel has his spear strapped to his back. Marina holds her machete with one hand, dragging her nets behind her with the other, while Glimmer already has an arrow nocked in her bow. I clutch four daggers in one hand, and Lover Boy, at the back of the group, holds a torch and a knife I must have overlooked.

All of the sudden, Marina says, "Hold it!"

I turn to her. "What?"

"This is the perfect spot for a trap." She shows us all an area in a tree that looks pretty regular.

"How so? It looks so… boring," comments Glimmer.

Marina ignores this. "I need someone to help me hack off some branches and place them in such a way that they will conceal the rope. Anybody here good at camouflage and can actually handle a knife?"

"I can," P-E-E-T-A steps up, handing his torch to Marvel. "What do you want me to do?"

Marina explains and I tune out, observing the area. All of the sudden, I see the faint trace of a footprint that smashed down the foliage. "Hey, Cato, Glimmer, Marvel, look at this."

"What, Marvel-Girl?"

I let them see for themselves. "Think a tribute's nearby?"

Cato bends down to examine the prints and I resist the urge to lean down and stroke his hair. _My God, Clove, get over your lovesick attitude._

"Well, judged on the print, they were here probably… an hour ago, at the least. They must have been running fast."

"And, it was a girl's footprint," Glimmer adds on, tossing her hair to the side.

Marvel stares at her. "How'd you know that, Glimmer?"

Glimmer rolls her eyes. "I'm not an idiot," she sniffs. (I have to hide my snort of disbelief.) "Her foot must have been slim, and short. All you have to do is narrow it down… it's none of the people in our alliance, Gear's foot is a couple sizes larger, Thresh doesn't qualify, Peeta wasn't here, and the cripple can't run. So it isn't a male's foot." She says it all with an air of superiority.

We all stare at her, to Glimmer's immediate discomfort. "What?" She snaps. "I'm, like, an expert on shoes."

I shrug off my shock and all of the sudden, three things happen… I stand up straight; Marina jumps from the tree and exclaims "Finished!" and the Capitol's anthem booms from seemingly everywhere at once.

Our entire alliance pretty much freezes as the anthem plays out. Then come the faces of the dead tributes, gazing into nothing. They all look so… pathetic.

First in the sky is the girl from Three. Her cheeks hollow, her brown hair pulled back and her lips in a permanent scowl. I feel no remorse. Circuit was weak and needed to be disposed of. I actually did her a favor.

Next is Krill, his eyes staring widely at the screen. I take in his freckled cheeks and his curly light brown hair. His death I do feel bad about—not that it was my fault. But Marina cared for him. I glance at her as she emits a squeak of grief, then composes herself and stares blankly upwards.

The boy from Five, both from Six, the girl from Seven, the boy from Seven—(whose face reminds me of Enther's, to which I instantly clasp my hands, squeezing to keep any emotions from showing in my eyes)—the boy from Eight, both from Nine, and finally, the girl from Ten flash across the sky, disappearing after they are shown momentarily. And then the anthem plays again and we unfreeze, grinning to each other.

"All expected," I mutter to Cato.

"All of them," he agrees. "Damn, the rest of these fucking tributes must have no guts at all."

Marvel snorts and shoves Cato playfully. "Have you _seen_ Thresh?"

"Bet my hair he's a big softie," Glimmer smirks.

"Don't be so sure, Glitter," I cross my arms. "Heard your scream the last time you lost any hair and it was about four inches. I wonder what your reaction would be _this_ time?"

Glimmer's smirk turns to a scowl. "Fine, bitch, I bet my clothes. Happy?"

"Okay, go ahead. Strip. All of Panem can be mortified, I don't care."

Glowering, Glimmer turns away and I roll my eyes. Hmm. More modest than I thought she was.

I notice Marina is silent (along with Lover Boy, but Lover Boy doesn't seem too conversation-ish). I walk over to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"You okay?" I ask.

"No." She mumbles.

"Why not?"

"I miss him," Marina sighs. "Krill, I mean."

"Oh." I don't know what to say. I've never had a sibling, and never will. Even if I make it out of the arena.

Just at that moment, a beeping sound comes out of nowhere, and I jump up and get into stance, knives out (I haven't even bothered to put them away).

Closer and closer it comes, and I wonder if it's some sort of bomb the Gamemakers have sent us until something thunks down right in front of Marina and the beeping stops.

"What is it?" P-E-E-T-A wonders aloud.

"I… I think it's from sponsors, but I don't need anything," Marina says, confused.

"Open it," Marvel says.

Marina does, unhooking the clasp on the little case connected to a silk parachute. I hold my breath, but nothing explodes and tracker jackers don't come buzzing out of the container, so it's nothing to worry about.

The gift is obviously for Marina, for when she pulls it out, she suddenly bursts into tears.

It's… a seashell.

The seashell itself is plain on one side, but has peachy pink swirls on the other.

"What the hell, Marina?" Cato says, almost unsympathetically.

"It was Krill's," she sniffs, wiping her tears and raising her head to give him a death stare, almost like she hadn't cried at all. "He gave it to me. I accidentally left it in the Capitol."

A blanket of silence spreads over everyone while Marina tucks away her seashell and parachute, until I clear my throat.

"Okay, we better get hunting. My input is we follow the footprints. Everyone agree?"

"Yeah," Glimmer pipes.

"Sure," Cato smirks at me, unsheathing his sword and marching to the running footprints.

"Right on, Marvel-Girl!" Marvel grins manically, taking Marina by the arm and towing her and her rope nets after Cato. Glimmer follows behind.

Lover Boy stares into space, and I snap my finger in front of his eyes. "Coming, idiot?"

He nods and hefts his torch. "Coming. Let's follow the footprints."

And we do.

**Hello, everyone!**

**You probably are angry with me. *sighs dramatically* I haven't published another chapter… for… for… like two months! Oh my God, I am so sorry. This is a filler chapter and was really boring to write, so I was unmotivated and I was all unmotivated, and, well, you get the idea. The next one, though, will be more promising. Another death. Mwahahahaha!**

**New followers/favoriters: Apple247, Dis-Iz-Da-Lyfe**

**If I forgot you, please PM/review me! There are too many to keep track of, now! Not that I'm complaining. :)**

**Okay, Meganium-Connie, I know you're probably there, I gotta thank you… she's the one who gave me the Marina-gets-sent-a-parachute idea! I know it wasn't as expected, but she wasn't homesick, she was Krill-sick, so the seashell was the best idea I could come up with! **

**Thank you all for reviewing, I know I haven't updated in forever. The next update should be in two days, though. THAT IS MY BIRTHDAY! (yay) **

**Reviews are much appreciated, I know I've said this a lot, but criticize away. I'm like a grammar freak and if I mess up, I'll be grateful if you point it out! **

**Thanks all!**

**Ibbonray**


	31. Of Death and Butt Acid

**Hey, everybody. The author's note is at the beginning this time! **

**This is a short chapter, but it contains a death. Beware. He he.**

**New follower/favoriter: Beastly007**

**I have decided to use a fancy way to reply to reviews. Which means…. HERE!**

**Beatles4ever8: Don't cry! I'm glad you love the seashell idea. :) Thanks for the review!**

**TrollingGirl: Hopefully this is a more motivating chapter. I found it more fun to write. I'm sorry to deprive you! I'm glad you liked the seashell part, even though Marina cried. Careers have weak moments too. Thanks for reviewing! :)**

**AutumnWillow18: Thanks! I appreciate it. :)**

**Meganium-Connie: I feel sorry for Marina too. And yes, Peeta is very protective of Katniss. He loves her, you know. :D I used your backfire idea in this chapter, but Glimmer will be caught again later on. You'll see. Thank you for reviewing, it motivated me! :)**

**Em74: Thank you! :)**

**Percyjacksonfangirl11: Here's your update! Ha ha, :) Thank you!**

**hungergamesgirl999: OMG, wow! Happy early birthday to you, too! It was just a filler chapter, hopefully this chapter will be better. Enjoy, and thanks for the review!**

**Apple247: Thanks! I am having a happy birthday. :D Here's your chapter, and thank you for reviewing!**

** Yes, guys, thanks very much. Today is OFFICIALLY my birthday (yay!) so, yeah. Just saying. Anyway, here's your chapter!**

We've been walking for hours. Every once in a while Marina puts up a trap, but besides that, the evening has been altogether uneventful. Following the footsteps proved faulty… we eventually came across two sets leading in opposite directions. The person seems smart—she was probably leading us off track before going on her merry way. But we followed each print track and came to a dead end on both, so we were all puzzled, impressed, and decided to ignore the false trails and delved deeper into the woods.

Anyway, I'm starting to get really bored. There has been no action, there has been no tributes to be found… are the rest of them more intelligent than we thought?

"We should turn back," whines Glimmer.

"Nah. I got this feeling that there will be someone to kill soon," Marvel says, almost knowingly.

"Oh really, Marvel? What are you betting?"

"My dried fruit," Marvel replies automatically.

"You're on," says Glimmer.

"This is a good spot to put up my last trap," Marina says suddenly. "Stop." We do, and she climbs up a tree, ties the rope in certain ways, camouflages it easily and then she jumps down, wiping her hands on her trousers.

"Well, that's finished," Lover Boy remarks. "Should we go back?"

Then I hear something. The crackling of something. Like somebody stepping on sticks, but… more like… a fire? "No. Wait," I pause. "Somebody has a fire going."

I gaze intensely into the trees until I see it. A faint, pulsing light—created by some idiot tribute. Who in the whole fucking world would think to light a fire in the middle of the night during the Hunger Games? It's cold but suck it up, loser. If I can stand chilly air then you can too.

"There," I whisper, pointing. "Let's go get them. Who wants the honor of killing Miss or Mr. Idiot?"

Cato smirks. "I got it, Clovie."

Everyone nods and we run towards the growing light, careful not to make much sound. Or, most of us are careful. P-E-E-T-A's footsteps are louder than hell. "Run lighter!" I hiss. "Shut your fucking feet up!"

My comments just make him, if possible, stomp his feet harder on the ground. I roll my eyes. Defiant much?

Now we're near enough to make out the tribute. It's the girl from Eight. It seems as if she's dozed off. Perfect. Cato's on her in a second, and the girl (what's her name? Pattern or some other dismal name District 8 parents give their children?) wakes up instantly and pleads with him.

"No, no, I can help you, don't kill me, please!" She pleads with him, and I smirk widely as Cato draws his sword and stabs her in the heart. Pattern screams as the sword enters her heart and we all run to Cato, laughing and congratulating him.

"Niiiice!" Marvel claps him on the back.

"That's my Cay-Cay!" Glimmer launches herself at Cato, and I bury down my anger, clenching my fists.

"Yeah, Cato!" I say next.

"Twelve down and eleven to go!" Marina laughs next, and we all hoot appreciatively at this.

"We should check her out for supplies," Peeta says softly.

I nod at him and go to her pack, turning it over. _Damn._ Nothing good. A water bottle, twine, matches, and a pair of socks… no wonder Pattern lit that fire. Still. She made the stupid decision to build one. And now she's dead.

"_Fuck._ That's a bad haul," Cato comments.

"Yeah, no kidding."

"Just leave the pack on her, we don't need any of the stuff," Marvel rolls his eyes. I dump the supplies back in the pack and toss it carelessly on her torso.

"Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking," Cato grins, and we all softly reply our 'okay's and then we're on the hunt again.

For a second, I glance at Lover Boy. He's staring at something in the trees. Hmm. I follow his gaze and see some sort of lump in an old willow tree. I can't make it out. What is it? A mockingjay? Some sort of owl or tree possum? Whatever, doesn't really matter. I turn away and follow Glimmer.

Then, about fifteen yards from District 8's campsite, Marina, who is at the front of the pack, stops. "Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" She asks.

We all stop in our tracks. _Wait a second…_ I think.

"I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately," Marvel says.

"Unless she isn't dead!" Glimmer suggests, and although I don't want to agree with her, it's the only thing that makes sense for this situation.

"She's dead. I stuck her myself." Cato crosses his arms.

I sigh. "Then where's the canon?" I ask.

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done."

"Yeah, we don't want to track her down twice."

Cato practically explodes. "I said she's dead!" He bellows.

I rush over to him and put my hand on his shoulder, sensing something bad happening if I don't calm him down. "Cato. We understand that you're good at killing people. There are just some people with stubborn hearts, _literally,_ and they don't die as fast as others. Calm down. Don't let your emotions get to you," I say in the most soothing voice I can. Cato visibly looks like he's struggling to keep his feelings of rage under control.

Meanwhile, Glimmer and Marvel are arguing. "Maybe she is dead and the Gamemakers just messed up!" Glimmer says.

"The Gamemakers never mess up! They would have sounded the cannon!"

"Nobody's perfect! They messed up! Eight is dead!"

"No she's not!"

"Yes she is!"

"No she's not!"

"Break it up, you two!" Marina yells. "She's obviously alive!"

"She's dead!" Cato roars and we all go silent. Then Breadie Boy speaks up. "We're wasting time!" He says. "I'll go finish her and let's move on!"

All of the sudden, a rustling noise starts up from the willow tree I saw the strange animal in earlier. The thing must be a sloth. I ignore it. Not important.

"Go on, then, Lover Boy," says Cato venomously. "See for yourself."

P-E-E-T-A limps away. What happened? Did he trip when we were running? Oh, fuck, who gives a shit. Not me. None of us say anything until he's out of earshot.

"Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?" Marvel says in a hushed voice.

"Let him tag along. What's the harm?" Marina says. "And he's handy with that knife." This comment makes me annoyed. Lover Boy isn't as talented with knives as I am. God damn it, Marina.

"Besides," Glimmer pipes. "He's our best chance of finding her."

"Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?" Cato snorts.

"She might have. Seemed pretty simpleminded to me," I smirk. "Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke."

"Wish we knew how she go that eleven," Marina sighs.

"Bet you Lover Boy knows," Marvel says. I'm sure P-E-E-T-A does know how she got the eleven. I want to say I asked Lover Boy about Katniss' private sessions, but I'm not sure if he told me the entire truth, so I veto what I was going to tell them.

Breadie Boy returns. "Was she dead?" Cato asks him.

"No. But she is now," Lover Boy answers. The cannon booms just after he says that, and I narrow my eyes at the boy from Twelve. Shouldn't he have waited to say she was dead to AFTER Pattern's canon had boomed? Something suspicious just went on. I'll ask about it later. If there is a later.

"Ready to move on?" Peeta asks, not noticing my skeptical glare. The rest of the alliance nods and we set off at a run right before the sun breaks above the horizon. Birds chirp and we head back to the Cornucopia.

We must be seven hundred meters or so from our camping spot when Glimmer shrieks. Everyone stops, Lover Boy almost tripping and falling on top of his torch, and we turn around. Glimmer hangs above us; suspended in a rope net that Marina had set up earlier.

I roll my eyes. Marina smirks and says, "Well, looks like the trap works," and cuts one part of the net that lets Glimmer drop to the ground instantly.

Glimmer shrieks again, and crawls away from the spot where she landed in, which is occupied by a pile of dead leaves. "Those are covered in butt acid!" She wails and stands up, dusting off rear end with her hands.

"What?" Marvel laughs like it's the most hilarious joke in the world.

"Butt acid!" She stares at him like he's crazy. "You know, like boot acid, but it damages your butt! And my butt cannot be damaged!"

"Oh, no, your pathetic ass is ruined," I fake sympathy.

"Not helping," Glimmer glares at me as Marina climbs the tree and sets up her trap again.

We run back to the campsite, everyone chuckling except for Glimmer who is explaining how butt acid thrives in dead leaves. A couple yards from the campsite, I tell her to shut up. Who fucking cares about Glimmer's ass, anyway?

Not me.

**Okay, I hope the butt acid thing was mildly funny. I just thought, boot acid, butt acid, you know… oh whatever. It wasn't a genius idea. Tell me if you don't like it! It was sort of weird.**

**Review, please! If I could ship reviews, I would, just like I ship Clato, ha ha! Love you all!**

**Ibbonray**


	32. The 'Bathroom Break'

**A/N: Hey there! Finally, here's another. I've had this case of MWB (major writer's block)… so I'm sorry everyone!**

**I'm publishing two chapters today because for the next month, (starting July 8,) I will be at overnight summer camp. I'm really excited, but we aren't allowed any technology (aka NO COMPUTERS) so I won't be able to update at all. Expect the next in a month and a half. Again, sorry. :(**

** This chapter is kind of based off of a scene in caisha702's **_**Love is a Battlefield.**_** Hers includes Clove finding Foxface, but not being able to catch her. I did incorporate original ideas of my own though, so I'm not copying. (As they say, copying is the finest form of flattery, anyway, and I love her stories.)**

** New followers: Brainiac107, Who What When Where Why How, and WritingFortheFuture**

** New favoriters: Brainiac107, WritingFortheFuture, and fizzyfurofknives**

** (I LOVE YOU ALL! And gotta say, Brainiac107 is my best friend, and she's awesome, yay yay yay.)**

** Okay. Reply-zation for the reviews time. (smiley face)**

** TrollingGirl: Oh, thank you! I did have a great day. I'm glad you loved the Glimmer-suspended-in-net idea, I really wasn't sure if it was a good idea, but I got a lot of enthusiasm about it. Enjoy these next few chapters! Thanks for the review.**

** HugtheWholeWorld: Thank you for the review! I did take that positively, but it took me a while to update again, sorry sorry. :( I hope these two chapters make you happy. :) Thanks!**

** Jacqueline Rasky: Thank you! I did get a lot of presents (yay) and I'm glad you thought the last chapter was funny. Butt acid is a spin-off of boot acid, of course, but I have no idea what it would do. It's up to your imagination! No, Marina did not set the trap so Glimmer would fall in, it was purely by accident, but a FUNNY accident at that. :) Yeah, Glimmer's not my favorite character; I always picture her as really girly so I thought Cay-Cay was a fantastic nickname for Cato! I appreciate all your enthusiasm; it helps me pull me out of my **_**What-Am-I-Supposed-To-Write-Next**_** stupor every time I read one of your reviews. Thanks thanks thanks! :D**

** Apple247: *****sighs in relief* So pleased that you think the butt acid was funny. :) Don't worry, I was excited about District 8's death too, more because it was an exciting moment and not so filler-chapter-y! Yes, it was Katniss, and she was noticed in the tree, she just didn't know it! Thank you for the review. :)**

** Percyjacksonfangirl11: I'm glad you did! Hope you like these chapters! Thanks for the review!**

** Meganium-Connie: Hey Connie! Thanks for the review! Maybe iPod-autocorrecting isn't the best idea… :) I didn't try to have a Marina personality change, but I suppose it just comes with the fact that she's in the Games. I'm just going to keep her like she is now… until she dies, that is… :( **

**Hmm. Interesting ideas, I'm not sure I'm going to use them, though. Gear will be able to do it. I'm thinking about a half a day to sort supplies, then Gear and Peeta use the sorted supplies to make the supply pile, and then Gear mines the whole thing? I don't know. I'll figure it out. It's a long process, maybe I'm drawing it out a bit too much…**

**I appreciate all the ideas you throw at me! They give me a wider range of view on how the layout of my story will go, which is a great thing! I'm sorry I can't use most of them, because I do have my own ideas, but I'll try to incorporate some more as the story goes on. Anyway, thank you! Enjoy!**

** Guest One: Thank you!**

** Em74: Thanks thanks thanks! Enjoy the update. :)**

** Cato lover: Thank you for the review! I was planning on Clove telling Cato she loves him just before she dies too, before you even sent me this review, but your suggestion convinces me that people will like the idea as well! I will definitely use the idea! :D**

** Beatles4ever8: Hopefully this chapter is even better than the last… :) Thanks for the review.**

** Guest Two: I know I was away forever, and then was away forever AGAIN… sorry about that! I hope you're happy that I published another two chapters though! Thanks for the review!**

** Brainiac107: HELLO HELLO HELLO SaM! Yay, you love it, so happy! Thank you for the review! YAY YAY YAAAAAAYYYYY! (Did I get a little overexcited there?)**

** TheQuibblergirl: Thank you! I'm trying to make sure that other characters, besides the Careers, are sort of incorporated… hence Peeta notices Katniss and Clove notices Peeta looking at Katniss, but Clove thinks Katniss is… well… not Katniss. More sneak peaks of **_**another**_** character coming up in this chapter. :) I'm also working on making the Career alliance more friendly, like you say, and giving The Gouge in the Table a funny twist, so that's why I added butt acid! I'm glad you like it! (By the way, did you know Luna is my favorite Harry Potter Character? I love your username!) Thanks for the review!**

** fizzyfurofknives: I'm a strong Clato shipper as well, and I'm flattered that you think this is the best Clato story you've ever read! Thank you! I don't know much about Jenna Marbles, but that's funny. :D Ha ha, you're the second person to stay up late reading my story and say that! I'm sorry for the lack of updates, hope this satisfies you! Thank you for the review, and I promise not to step in butt acid, that would be bad! Ha ha :)**

** OKAY! That was, like, the longest author's note ever. Almost a thousand words. Oops. Too much to say, I guess! The next chapter's AN won't be long at all, to even it out. Hahaha. Okay. LOVE YOU, EVERYONE! All you readers make me feel so good, even if I have no idea who you are. Hahaha. Over and out. Peace, love, and smiles! See ya! Bye!**

The moment we enter the campsite, I fume. Gear is just sitting there, drawing in the dirt with his damn spear.

"Aren't you supposed to be on watch, idiot?" I yell at him and thwack him on the head with the handle of one of my knives. Gear looks dazedly up at me and then snaps to attention when he sees my harsh glare.

"Sorry, sorry," he mutters. "Won't happen again."

"It better not happen again or I'll kick your sorry ass."

He just lowers his head and gets back to work on sorting supplies with Lover Boy. Gear put it off until morning, because everything's easy in the light of day and he had to keep watch, anyway. The rest of us help ourselves to apples and dried fish over crackers, which is delicious.

The sun has risen to a forty-five degree angle in the sky by the time we finish our meal. Even though it is only morning, around eight thirty I'd say, the heat is excruciating. I mentally thank the Gamemakers for positioning a lake so near the Cornucopia, because every thirty minutes one of us takes everyone's water bottles and fills them up, adds iodine, and we all wait thirty minutes for the water to purify. Then we down the contents and it is someone else's turn to refill them.

It's good that we've set up camp right near the lake; one, because we don't have to walk far to retrieve water, two, because it won't be in the way once Gear sets up the mines, and three, because the lake will be tempting for idiotic tributes who are too thirsty to think straight.

We're all bored to death. We make plans to interrogate Lover Boy later on, talk about how we'll kill the rest of the tributes, and, when everything to do with the arena has been discussed, we talk about home. Glimmer, Marvel, Cato, and I cannot talk about Training (District 4 does not have a Center) but we do talk about our parents.

"My mom, is like, the richest person in District 1," Glimmer squeals.

"Let me guess," I say sweetly. "She spoils you to death."

"I'm not dead," Glimmer frowns.

"Ohhhh, really?" Marina laughs from her post on a log. She's keeping watch, but isn't doing quite a good job at it, so I've been surveying the area as well. "Your fashion sense is dead, so I think we just all assumed you were." I snort at this. Marina has a talent of getting on Glimmer's nerves.

"_Hey!_" Glimmer sulks after that.

"What do your parents do, Marvel Girl?" Marvel asks me, and my laughter stops abruptly, my smile turning into a scowl. As soon as he sees this a spark of remembrance alights in his eyes and he holds his hands up. "Sorry, sorry. Forgot they were dead."

My facial features change to a smile again, and I roll my eyes. "Forget my interview _that_ fast, Marbles?"

He laughs, and says, "Yeah, I have amnesia."

Cato glances at Marvel. "Or is it just douche syndrome?"

Marvel, Marina, and I glare at him, but Glimmer laughs. After fifteen seconds of glaring and laughing, Cato apologizes and Glimmer doesn't stop laughing in the awkward silence.

We all turn our glares on her and she stops. "What? It's funny." There is more silence after that as I mentally disagree with her.

Marina leaps down from the log. "Okay, Marvel, your turn at watch."

"Right on, Rina."

Marvel gets up to stand on the log and survey the area. And right then the thirty minutes for the water to purify are up and we all drink our water in a couple large gulps, wiping our mouths afterward.

Now it's my turn to go get water. I collect the five bottles of water we have, then walk over to Gear and Lover Boy and take theirs from them. I see they have made very little progress. The piles look like they have shrunk, not grown, and the Cornucopia is still half full. They are, at the moment, snacking on a couple apples they found.

"Get to work," I snap at them. "You're taking way too many breaks. We expect you to be done by the time we hunt tonight."

Breadie nods, dropping his apple and traveling into the mouth of the Cornucopia, but Gear whines, "It's hot out!"

"Well, sucks for you," I shrug, and reach into my vest to draw out a knife. "Get to work or this could end up in your neck, forehead, chest, back… you get the point."

"You wouldn't. You need me too much," he sneers, but his eyes show panic.

I shrug again. "Not particularly." I throw the knife at the half-eaten apple in his hand, spearing it to the side of the metal Cornucopia, which is a good twenty feet away. Then I draw out another knife. "Death by knife or death from heat stroke? It's your decision. Be glad I'm even getting you water."

It seems like Gear has chosen heat stroke, because he hurries back to the Cornucopia, and I make my way to the lake. Everything is still and almost peaceful, the murmur of talking coming from our camping space. I hear Marina laughing at something Marvel said, Glimmer protesting because the joke was on her. It is at these moments that I realize if we were from a lower District, we would be normal teenagers—not born to fight, but born to love.

_No._ My father had always been harsh. He would probably bring me up the way I am anyway. But Glimmer could be the popular girl that every boy would want to sleep with; Marvel would be class clown; Marina would be sweet and Cato, well, I didn't know what Cato would be if he wasn't from District 2. He and Glimmer would probably be each other's partners, or maybe friends with benefits…

My train of thought is cut short by a rustling in the trees as I'm filling the third bottle. I instantly straighten, getting into fighting stance and draw four knives from my vest. The rustling is coming from nearby; about fifty yards away. It sounds almost as if someone is adjusting himself or herself to get in a comfortable position on a tree branch. The disturbance comes from a tall maple and then I'm running toward it, putting on my I'm-About-To-Kill-You face.

I hear another rustle and this one is louder, as if the person is jumping out of the tree. Was this tribute… spying on me? Well, now they're going to get what they deserve… a long, painful death.

I break into a sprint in the direction of the tree, clearing the fifty yards in seconds, then search for footprints along the base of the trunk. _There._ Two small footprints, very much like the size of my own feet, are set side to side. _Yes, somebody definitely jumped out of this tree. _I look in the general direction of where the tribute might have gone and find slight disturbances in the foliage. Whoever this person is, is remarkably light on their feet. I take off, glancing down every second to make sure I'm headed on the right track.

All of the sudden, I see a flash of red in the distance. It could be some sort of strange creature, a bird of paradise, but before I can think of more possibilities, the answer to what that red came from registers in my mind. District Five. The girl with the fox face. The ginger, Finch, whatever her name is.

I laugh in glee and sprint harder. Five is obviously a talented runner, and intelligent… she twists and turns, navigating the forest surprisingly easily, turning left and then a sharp right. I find it hard to keep up with her despite the severe amount of running they have us do daily at the Training Center back in Two. But I never do lose her; for Finch's brilliant ginger-colored hair gives her away.

Soon I think I'm catching up to her, because the flash of crimson is closer, closer. And then… there is nothing at all.

Nothing. Nothing! I can't see Finch anymore. Her hair seems to have disappeared, along with the rest of her body.

I jog up to the last place I saw her, which is a tiny clearing. The sun shines down and I realize that I'm sweating _hard._ The heat is almost unbearable, and with the canopy of vegetation above me it was better… but now, with the Gamemaker-created sun uncovered, I realize I'm extremely thirsty, and my skin is burning. I wonder if we have any sun protection cream.

_That's not the problem right now!_ I snap back into action. The problem is that I cannot find Ginger. And that is a major dilemma, because if I can't find her, I can't kill her, and to not be able to kill a potential victim labels me as weak. I'm not weak. I can't be thought of as weak.

"Damn it," I curse when I trip over a clump of bushes on the outside of the clearing. Then I say, "Wait a second…"

I realize the bush moved to the side slightly as I pick myself up. That's the thing. Bushes can't _move._ Unless there's a tribute underneath, or some sort of den they needed to cover up…

"Hiding, Five? That's not going to do you any good," I purr, brushing the clump of leaves and branches Finch disguised as a shrub aside. But she's not underneath. Instead, there is a hole in the dirt; a three by three foot circular opening that leads into darkness. I shrug to myself and slide in, headfirst, crawling into the small, crudely made dugout while taunting, "Come out, come out, wherever you are?"

Dirt falls into my hair, much to my annoyance, as I travel about three or four yards. I must be just a couple feet underground, but it seems like I am hundreds; it's even hotter down here than it is in open air. Soon it opens into a larger space, but not by much. There are the remains of someone living down here, but no Finch. Because this is obviously Ginger's little hidey-hole.

"What the hell?" I wonder to myself aloud, touching the sides of the tiny dugout. To my right is a small area full of charred wood. Five must have lit a fire last night, to cook herself dinner, maybe, or to keep herself warm. I am curious how the smoke escaped, until I look up to see holes in the ceiling, letting in a little light. To my left, she undoubtedly used the space to sleep—there is a large pile of pine needles that Finch might have covered herself with to stay warm.

How could Foxface have constructed this place in just a day? She must have worked all night. But she needed materials to light a fire, and there is no flint hanging around. Then it dawns on me. She evidently raced down here just a few minutes ago and took her belongings with her; the flint, and I wasn't sure if Ginger owned a pack. If she did, then she collected it as well. So shouldn't she be down here? Finch clearly didn't have the time to come in and race out through the entrance again, so—_of course._

My eyes flick to the other side of the slight opening, to find District Five's escape route. A tunnel leading out into the woods again.

My theory is confirmed. The other side of the hideout leads up into the woods again a couple yards away. She has escaped my clutches. _She escaped. _"Fuck!" I yell, throwing one of my knives at a lizard lurking nearby. It is decapitated a second later, but it doesn't help the fact that my mood has taken a turn for the worst. "DAMN IT DAMN IT _DAMN_ IT! YOU'RE SUCH A BITCH, FIVE!"

I don't care if the whole arena can hear me. Let them come at me if they want… I'll kill them all with a flick of my wrist.

A full minute of cursing later, I'm still stuck. When I went into her den, Foxface probably ran out, and even took the time to cover her tracks behind her. I don't know where she went. I hate this. I only have _two_ kills. _Two._ Not Career worthy. I call dibs on killing Ginger when us Careers find her, definitely.

Damn it. I let her get away! I fell into the fox girl's trap and she anticipated it! Now she's probably up a tree, gloating and snacking on some meal she made on that fire of hers. The Capitol, my mentors, District 2… hell, _everybody _will think I'm weak. They won't sponsor me. And I'll be the most pathetic Career in the history of the Games.

Damn. It.

It takes me awhile to find my way back to the lake, but my footprints from earlier help tremendously. By the time I see the water, still as could be, I've decided against telling the rest of the Careers about my pathetic attempt to kill Five. They'll kick me out of the group. Kill me. My pride has been damaged and they don't need to know why.

I go back to the water bottles that are still located on the edge of the water and fill up the rest of them. Then I go to where Lover Boy and Gear are working (the pile that needs to be sorted still has shrunk to a third of its size, much to my satisfaction) and snag a case of iodine tablets from the liquids pile, as well as a cloth that can be use as a filter and a two gallon jug.

"What took you so long?" Peeta (I've gotten over calling him P-E-E-T-A) asks me as he drops a bag of apples in the perishable foods pile.

"None of your business," I snap, leaning down to place the cloth over the opening of the 2-gallon container, and then pouring all the water in the bottles into it, through the cloth. Everyone knows that iodine tablets don't cleanse your water as well as you'd like. The water has to be filtered first, and then the iodine tablets added.

It's really too bad iodine tastes horrible. But it's our only way of purifying water—no actual filters that will get rid of all the diseases that the Gamemakers might have placed in the lake—so this has to do. If we had a couple drops of lemon juice it might do the trick, but this is the Hunger Games, and the Gamemakers don't take the time to put lemon juice or sugar or anything of that sort in the Cornucopia. They didn't add full water bottles this year either, just empty ones.

After all the water is filtered, I take the now filthy cloth off the top of the jug and pour the water back into the bottles. Then I place an iodine tablet in each bottle, screw the caps back on, and toss two to Gear and Peeta. "Wait thirty minutes," I say, in a monotone, as Gear's bottle strikes him in the forehead.

Gear looks stunned for a moment, and I turn around, stifling back a laugh. _Perfect aim, Clovie,_ I congratulate myself.

Then I return back to camp.

"Where'd you go off to?" Glimmer asks, suspicious, as I hand her a bottle. "Why'd you keep us waiting so long?"

"I was… surveying the woods around us for any unsuspecting tributes," I say in a failed attempt at lying. As I said before, they don't need to know about Foxface.

"Uh-huh," Marina says, skeptical as well. "While you were getting us water. I definitely believe you, Clove."

"Clovie," Cato says. "We all saw you sprint off after something. Spit it out."

I narrow my eyes at him. "It's none of your business what I did! For all you know, I had to go to the bathroom really bad!"

Marvel turns on his log and raises an eyebrow. "And going to the bathroom takes fifteen minutes. Riiiight."

"Well, maybe it did for me," I say defiantly.

They decide to let it rest for a while after this, until around twelve o'clock, when we all opt to get some sleep until we go on the hunt at dusk. I volunteer to have first watch—I'm not tired anyway—and Glimmer walks up to me.

"Did you know you have dirt in your hair?" She sneers.

I don't even reach up to touch my hair because I know that's what she wants. "Yes," I say, faking a smile. "It's all the rage in the Capitol. Did you know you had dirt in yours, Glitter?"

Glimmer reaches up, looking bewildered, and runs her fingers over the top of her head, finding nothing. She smirks when she doesn't feel any dirt tangled in her golden blonde hair, but I just smirk back. "Got you," I say, and go to sit around the campfire, which is unlit. Everyone dives into their tents, even Gear and Lover Boy, except for me, and I wait fifteen minutes more for the iodine to dissolve into my water before I drink it all.

The sun bears down on me. I take a quick trip over to the piles and after a little bit of searching, I find a tube of sun protection cream. I slather it over my already burned skin and think to myself, _this is going to be a long watch._


	33. Nightmare

**A/N: This will be a short and not-so-sweet chapter. Enjoy! -Ibbonray**

After a couple of uneventful hours tick by, I enter Cato's and my tent. "Your turn at watch," I say, shaking him awake. He just snores on and doesn't budge.

Cato's always been such a deep sleeper it's ridiculous. There's only one way to wake him up, but I decide not to resort to that unless I can't. (Wake him up, that is.) I peek out the tent, scanning the area to make sure there are no tributes around, while shaking him harder, but he doesn't budge a bit.

Finally, I sigh and hold an elegant-looking knife to his neck, pressing down enough so he can feel the cold metal on his skin. I lean down close over his ear. "Quick or slow death, District 2? I'd prefer slow," I whisper.

This does the trick. Cato wakes up instantly and goes for his sword, which lies right next to him. I get away from him in a single backwards leap, holding my knife up to defend myself.

Cato gets tangled up in his sleeping bag while trying to lunge at me, swinging his Colanda sword around wildly, and I dodge and duck to avoid getting my head cut off. Finally, I see the look in his eyes as he realizes that it's just me, not some rogue tribute that would dare to put a knife up to his neck while he was sleeping, and he points the Colanda at my chest.

"Clovie," Cato mutters, sounding angry. "Were you or were you not going to kill me just now?"

I roll my eyes. "Geez, back off. That's the only way to wake you up. Your turn on watch, _Cay-Cay._"

Cato frowns and then sighs, dropping the sword to his side. He trusted me too easily. He shouldn't let his guard down so fast. "Damn it. I was looking forward to some sleep."

"You _got_ sleep. Three hours of it."

"Three hours is not enough!" He complains.

"Too bad. Stop complaining." I climb into my sleeping bag, making sure my hand that is clutching my knife is outside the bag so I'm ready to attack anything that comes at me.

A few seconds later, the stifling heat of the bag gets to me. "How do you _sleep_ in these?" I mumble to Cato. "I'm burning up."

"Look who's complaining now," he smirks as he exits the tent. "Get used to it." Then he closes the flap of the tent behind him.

"Maybe I could if you kept the tent flap open," I mutter to myself, but Cato can't hear it because based on logical maths, he's probably eight yards away from the tent by now.

After thirty minutes of tossing and turning around in the sleeping bag, I slip into a light sleep, full of nightmares. I'm chasing after Foxface, through the woods, getting pelted by droplets of rain that fall through the thick canopy of leaves above me. The rain stings and soon I realize that it's acid rain, and it eats away at my hands and face, which are the only part of my body not covered by clothing. But the rain is eating away at my clothing and it won't be long until it reaches the skin underneath.

Up ahead is a clearing, with bright sunlight bearing down. I'm sprinting towards it, and I can make it, I'm sure I can make it. I can make it, I can make it; it's a chant that runs through my head; I can make it, I can make it. Can't I?

There! I made it. The acid rain disperses and I'm standing in the sunny clearing, and there is Finch, face down in a pile of dead leaves.

I rush over to her, taking a knife from my vest. I can kill her now! I caught up with her! I laugh in glee and kick Finch over, but she doesn't move. It takes all my strength to heave her onto her back (how odd… she looks lighter than me but Ginger is just so heavy!) and when I do, it takes me a while to catch my breath and look at her face.

But half of it is gone. And I realize. _Acid._ This is the work of acid. But Five isn't dead… she's unconscious.

I can still finish her off.

I look at her face, ruined from the acid. Then Glimmer appears next to me and whispers in my ear, "It's butt acid, Clove! Butt acid that ruined her face!"

"Go away, Glitter," I reply, and she disappears.

Then I draw my knife and position it over Foxface's stomach. "Quick or slow death?" I purr at her, smiling, staring at her closed eyes, as I make a cut on her abdomen. "I prefer slow." I make another cut, turning into a deep red X.

All of the sudden, her eyes snap open. But they are not the deep amber color that should be there. Instead they are ice blue, a normally beautiful blue, but now they are haunting. The red hair instantly shortens into a spiky blonde and her acid-scarred face is replaced with more masculine features. And when she talks, her voice definitely belongs to him.

"Stop it Clovie!" Cato screams at me, eyes flashing. "Stop it!" He says, and I look down at the bloody X on his stomach and I know his is going to die because I killed him. Cato is going to die.

And now I'm screaming. "Cato! Cato! Don't die! Please Cato! Please! Please! Cato!" It goes on for minutes but it's no use. His eyes close and his breathing stops and he's dead now. Quicker than should be possible, my Cato is dead. "Cato! _Cato! CATO!"_ I shriek and then my whole world is swimming and I open my eyes and Cato's kneeling above me, shaking me hard. My hands are gripping his shirt as tight as I can and he's saying, "Clovie! Clove! Wake up, Clove! Stop it, Clove!"

I'm gasping for air but I can't breathe. I can't scream but I can't breathe either. Cato gives me one last shake and says, "Clove. Clove. You had a nightmare. It's okay."

I nod into his shirt as he embraces me, and my hands start to relax as I finally calm down. _Just a nightmare. It was just a nightmare._

"What's all the commotion?" Says somebody outside the tent. I recognize it as Glimmer's voice, and Lover Boy replies. "Clove just started screaming. Don't know why. I'm on watch, though, so I can't leave my post."

My hands fall from Cato's shirt, and I look down at them. My nails have dug through the material of his shirt, leaving four tiny crescent-shaped holes in it, and my hands are covered in blood from where my nails cut into my skin as well. I'm sobbing into Cato's shirt and it's the hot liquid that my face is pressed up against that makes me aware of what I'm doing.

I sit up as fast as I can, shoving Cato away from me, drying my eyes quickly and turning around to compose myself.

"What the hell?" I hear Glimmer say as she opens the flap of our tent. "How considerate of you to wake us all up in the middle of our beauty sleep," she tells me, but my back is still to her.

"She had a nightmare," Cato replies for me.

I can tell Glimmer see where my tears have hit his shirt because she asks, "Why's your shirt wet, Cay-Cay?" Then there's a pause as Glimmer probably smirks. "Oh, Clloooovvvve sweetie, are you crying?"

I turn around, clenching my bloodied fists. I crawl up to her, because the tent is not near tall enough to stand up in, and punch her in the face. Glimmer should have expected it, but she looked shocked.

"No, I am not crying, Glitter sweetie. It is none of your business what nightmares I have and I will methodically deny any idiotic reasons you come up with for my screaming."

"Umm… okay," Glimmer says hesitantly, cradling her face with her hand.

Marina and Marvel appear next, and I explain that yes, I had a nightmare, and no, I am not crying because of it. They don't let the subject drop as easily, but don't judge either.

We all exit the tent, which has been getting pretty crowded. Gear and Lover Boy are conversing quietly by the fire and I immediately fear they are thinking up ways to kill us, so I throw two of my knives so they come millimeters from the top of their heads.

"Whoa!" Gear ducks while Peeta calls, "What was that for?"

"Just checking to make sure you're not feeling too rebellious," I say, in false cheery voice.

"So!" Marvel says in the same optimistic tone, but it sounds real when it comes from his mouth. "Now that we're all awake, maybe we should go hunt some tributes."

"Sounds good to me," Cato says, drawing his Colanda from its place in its sheath.

"I second."

"Sure."

And we heft our packs, leave Gear on watch again, grab some flashlights and torches as the sun goes down, and those of us who have them, put our night vision glasses on, and we take off running into the woods.


End file.
